I Know a Way out of Hell
by darcyfarrow
Summary: Hook. Cora. Pan. Zelena. The parade of enemies who would kill him, or would attack his loved ones to get to him, is, he realizes, endless; not even his death was enough to secure his family's safety. And so Rumplestiltskin gives over to the darkness, until an unlikely friend comes forth with an answer. Warning: graphic descriptions of cruelty. Rumbelle, with a little OutlawQueen.
1. Prologue

**_Nahari_**_: I'm going to Hell! I killed a child! I smashed his head against a wall._

**_Gandhi_**_: Why?_

**_Nahari_**_: Because they killed my son! The Muslims killed my son!_

**_Gandhi_**_: I know a way out of Hell. Find a child, a child whose mother and father have been killed and raise him as your own. Only be sure that he is a Muslim and that you raise him as one._

-from the movie _Gandhi, _written by John Briley

* * *

><p>A man can't survive without faith, without something to reach for, to hold tight to, even if that man was the evilest being in the world. There wasn't much Rumplestiltskin believed in, after a lifetime of abandonment, rejection, bullying and betrayal, but even after he took on the Dark Curse, he clung to one belief and never wavered from it: he would someday find his son again. And when that day happened, whatever the conditions under which it happened, however long it took, Rumplestiltskin would finally get to say to Baelfire the words his heart had been crying out every minute of his life since the portal opened and Bae fell away: I'm sorry; I always will be; and I love you; I always will.<p>

It was this unshakable faith that led Rumplestiltskin to determine that he had to hang on to some part of his humanity and so, all his life as a sorcerer, he'd lived by a code, such as it was. Although it gained him some begrudging respect among heroes, who also lived by a code, it wasn't so he could live peacefully among them that he followed three rules, but rather, so that he could live with himself in the hope that someday Bae could stand to live with him:

1. Rumplestiltskin never breaks a deal.

2. Rumplestiltskin never harms children (takes them away from neglectful or abusing parents, yes, and finds them new homes, but never causes them injury).

3. Rumplestiltskin obeys the fundamental laws of magic.

In two centuries of living—and despite the Dark Curse's residency in his soul, desperate for destruction, calling for chaos—he'd never violated these rules since that awful night when he broke his deal with Baefire.

But then came the years of revenge, as the villains of his past emerged from the shadows to seek his destruction, and worn down, Rumplestiltskin willfully broke each and every one of his own rules. He became, then, a true villain, blackhearted, unloved and unloving, undone.

Because after his enemies got through with him, he didn't care about living with himself any more. In fact, he didn't care about living.

Only a child's magic could save him then.


	2. Chapter 1

**May 2013**

**Sometimes, especially in the beginning when he still had the energy and the foolishness to resist her, Zelena made him crawl on all fours and whine like a beaten dog. She found this uproariously funny: the most powerful mage in the world, crawling in the slush in his five-thousand-dollar suit.**

**Sometimes she made him lick her hand, like a starved dog, after she'd fed him tidbits. She thought she would break him by robbing him of his dignity. What she didn't know was that Gold was the one concerned with dignity, and Gold was just a fabrication of a curse: Rumplestiltskin–the abandoned boy who'd grown up to be a teased teenager and a tormented adult–had no such concern. He'd spent his life just ducking kicks and blows. She couldn't break him that way, though it amused her to try. After each failed attempt to humiliate him, when she'd returned him to his cage, he'd simply added another notch to his spinning wheel, placing her debts on tick. She would pay someday. He was an immortal: he could afford to wait.**

**She failed over and over in her attempts to break him, but—and she may never have realized this, because she claimed she was merely passing the time until Snow's baby arrived—she had succeeded in stealing his hope and extinguishing the light inside him. She'd done so simply by asking him to tell her his stories.**


	3. Chapter 2

8 May 2014

Some days after Zelena had vanished from the jail cell, Regina and Emma returned to the farmhouse the witch had occupied.

The sheriff had come for what she called "a post mortem," tying up the loose ends of her investigation, though she really didn't expect to find any new information, and indeed, she didn't. She did, however, spend several long minutes crouching in the dank iron cage in which Gold had been kept prisoner for nearly a year. She examined the flea-laden layer of straw that had served as both bed and bathroom; she examined the plastic water bowl labeled "Fido" that lay on the floor beside the spinning wheel, and the scummy water left in the bowl. She stood and looked out at the damp, mildewed walls of the cellar and the cracked ceiling through which dirt drizzled, and she wondered what it would do to a person's spirit to have only this to look at, hour after hour, day after day, week after week. The cold and damp–this was spring: what would this cellar have felt like in winter? The silence, not even the wind or birds to listen to, only the skitter of an occasional field mouse. No sunlight with which to gauge time.

She rested, leaning, against the cage, wrapping her hands around the bars of the door. She found scuff marks on the floor there and scratches on the lock and the bars. She wondered what he'd used to make those scratches, and then she found dried blood crusted on the metal and she knew.

She remembered the makeshift prison in the fairy-dust mine, back in the Enchanted Forest–the cage that had made her ask, "How did he keep from going crazy?" and Mary Margaret's reply: "He didn't." She remembered Gold's babble rhymes: "All the voices in my head will be quiet when I'm dead." She remembered the reason for the rhyme, and she wondered if, to save Henry, she could have found the fortitude to do what Gold did (she was pretty sure the answer was yes). Then she tried to imagine what it would be like to carry her son's soul inside her, his confused and frightened thoughts filling her mind, with no escape, no reprieve for either of them for a year.

When she walked out of the cage and up the stairs into the sunlight, she ended her investigation. She knew then what had happened to Zelena, and she had no desire to start a murder investigation. Not that there was any evidence to find anyway.


	4. Chapter 3

**June 2013**

**Most of the time, he couldn't think for all the voices shouting at him. They jumbled and tumbled in his ears so that he couldn't tell one from another, though in very brief moments of clarity, usually just before falling asleep, he could separate them long enough to identify them: Rumple, the quiet and meek spinner; the Dark One, loud and demanding; Gold, calm and calculating; and Baelfire, judgmental, practical, loving. **

**And then there was the witch's voice, which could rise from a kitten purr to a banshee shriek in half a second, particularly when he rejected her advances. She could command him to make love to her; they both knew that; even when he couldn't hear her over the other voices, his magic could, and it would force his body to do whatever she commanded. She could have forced him into her bed. He feared she would, and so he ratcheted up his crazy quotient, singing nonsense whenever she came around, and that seemed to put her off. **

**Trouble was, sometimes it didn't sound like nonsense to him. And that's when he got really scared. A Dark One under the control of a psychotic was bad enough; an insane Dark One scheming to obtain his freedom was frightening even to Rumplestiltskin. **

**In those moments, he hugged himself tightly and beat back the Dark One, Gold and Rumplestiltskin so he could hear Bae's voice. Someday, it assured him, this would be over. Someday the witch would be defeated, just as Cora and Pan before her. Someday, Rumplestiltskin and Baelfire would be freed and would return to their true loves and to Henry. **

**And someday, Rumplestiltskin would be free of that damned dagger and no one would ever own him again.**


	5. Chapter 4

8 May 2014

In the farmhouse, Regina, as next of kin, sorted through Zelena's belongings. The dresses and shoes and undergarments were both old-fashioned and tacky, like an oversized child's Halloween costumes: Regina flicked her wrist disdainfully and made them disappear. There was a man's three-piece suit on a hanger in the closet–had Rumple changed clothes here, then? Had he (gods!) slept here? With Zelena? Great Merlin's beard! Had he done so willingly, or at dagger point? Regina set the suit on fire. The less evidence of the heinousness of Zelena's crimes, the better.

The magic supplies–potions and ingredients for potions, spell books, amulets–could be useful, so she packed them in boxes to be later delivered to her crypt. She recognized her former master's handwriting in one of the books; she recognized his intricate, elegant workmanship in some of the enchanted objects. She wondered if these had been gifts or if Zelena had stolen them. Regina shuddered as she imagined Rumplestiltskin teaching Zelena the very same spells he'd taught her. And then she remembered that before her and her sister, he'd tutored their mother, and that made her queasy. She hurried through the rest of the packing.

Under the false bottom of a trunk she found a small, leather-bound book written in a tight, closed hand, in the language of Oz. Regina flipped through the pages: she'd translate them later. They seemed to be a record of magic lessons. But on the last page was a sketch of a very short-limbed family tree dominated by question marks. Only six names were supplied, starting with Cora, Zelena, Henry and Regina (Zelena's record made Regina out to be three years older than she really was).

Joined with Zelena's name was the name Tunathal. Extending from those two names was a vertical line that led to the notation "Trajan b. 4 second moon in 23rd year Halloran's reign." Regina had no idea when that was, but one thing she knew for sure: somewhere out there was another descendant of Cora.

Which made Regina an aunt.


	6. Chapter 5

**July 2013**

**"****I'm hot," the witch pouted, fanning herself with a newpaper. Never one for subtlety, she'd folded the paper so that he could see the headline: "SB's Wealthiest Businessman Still Missing, Feared Dead: Girlfriend Offers Reward for Info." **

**The witch waved her hand and a lounge chair appeared in the space between his cage and the stairs that led from the cellar to freedom. In his more lucid moments, when the voices in his head momentarily stilled, he would study those stairs, that cellar door, and search for the loophole that would permit him to use his magic and bust out. Stretching out her long, shorts-clad legs, she eased herself into the lounge chair. She knew full well she blocked his view of the stairs. **

**"****Iced tea, doll?" She offered, as though he were a neighbor who'd just dropped by for a friendly chat on a summer afternoon. Not waiting an answer—she never did, when it came to providing him food or drink: if he refused what she offered, she'd simply force him—she conjured two tall iced teas (his in a plastic tumbler, lest he get some ideas about the usefulness of glass as a weapon) and presented him one through the bars of the cage. **

**He took it. He'd realized early on that refusing nourishment or drink was ridiculous. The curse wouldn't allow him to die. **

**She yawned. "Who would have thought this world, with all its entertainments, would be so ****_boring_****? And this baby of Snow White's is taking forever to arrive. I crave amusement." She tapped her fingers on the glass, the condensation wetting her fingertips. "Doll. . . do you remember the tale of Scheherazade, the little harem girl who managed to stay alive by amusing her sultan with stories?"**

**It wasn't a good day for him: the voices in his head were especially loud and he had to struggle to focus on her voice. "Sultan?" he echoed. Some part of him knew the meaning of the word, but he couldn't grasp it.**

**"****Give me some entertainment to pass this interminable time. Tell me a story."**

**He shook his head to clear it, but she took that movement as refusal. Didn't she realize by now that he ****_couldn't_**** refuse a direct order? Her mouth twisted, she hissed at him, "Tell me a story!"**

**"****A story," he repeated. His magic, in its determination to fulfill her command, quieted the voices so that he could think more clearly. **

**"****About you." She smirked and leaned back in her chair. "An intimate story. You have a son; he must have had a mother. Or did you steal him?"**

**He found the name buried deep in his hazy brain. "Milah."**

**"****Did she marry you?"**

**He nodded.**

**"****Tell me the story."**

**He clamped his lips together, but the magic forced the story from him anyway. "She was sixteen." **

**"****Beautiful?"**

**"****A beauty in a family of beauties. Gray eyes, luxurious dark hair, bright smile."**

**Zelena made a mouth as she twisted a lock of her red-gold hair between her thumb and forefinger, an unconscious imitation, he suspected, of his own habit of working nonexistent thread between his fingers. Over the two months of his captivity, he'd noticed several small mannerisms and ways of thinking that she'd picked up from him. Realizing how much of an impression he'd made upon her only added to the nagging clench in his belly. "How did the likes of ****_you_**** catch such a prize? A scrawny, pointy-nosed, scaly-skinned, rotten-toothed thing like you? Enchant her, did you, or was it your bad-boy image she was drawn to?"**

**"****I was human then, looked more like I do now, but scrawnier and grayer. I was much older than Milah. . . and looked down upon because of my father. But I had a talent for spinning, and tailors, competing with each other for the business of nobles and royals, bought my thread at the price I asked, and so I made a comfortable living compared to other artisans. Milah's father learned of my success, and so he sent her my way, and it was I who was enchanted. I paid the largest bride price the village had ever seen."**

**Zelena sipped deeply on the straw in her iced tea. "And did she disappoint?"**

**"****She. . . had much to learn. She was a fair cook, but couldn't clean or sew or tend a garden."**

**"****That's not what I meant. Tell me about the wedding night." Zelena chewed on the straw.**

**"****She was as beautiful out of her dress as in it. She. . .she wanted to please me, and she wasn't shy. She was inexperienced, but not naïve; her older, married sisters had instructed her. She did not disappoint, ever, in that regard, until I returned from war."**

**"****And you? Were you inexperienced?"**

**He shot her a frustrated look, but the magic spoke on: "I was experienced but naïve."**

**"****What the hell does that mean?"**

**"****Tavern wenches," he spat. "Never in my own village, but when I traveled. Sometimes. They took my money and taught me nothing, but they slaked my lust."**

**"****Ah. Did you continue your tavern visits after you wed?"**

**"****Of course not. I had responsibilities. I had happiness."**

** "****How sweet. The little lovebirds billing and cooing in their cozy little nest. What went wrong?"**

**"****Ogres. Seer. Hook." The words burst from him like machine-gun fire. For a moment, the magic eased its stranglehold on him, but of course she had to have details, and as she commanded more, the magic seized him by the throat again. "First Ogres War. I was drafted; I was stupidly pleased about it. I thought I would come home a war hero. What the hell did I know? I'd never seen an ogre before. I'd heard stories, sure, but the same men who talked about man-eating ogres also talked about talking trees and snakes that walk on hind legs. And the duke's army was large, well equipped, and possessed a secret weapon sure to win the war: a Seer who could foretell the future. Through her, we would learn the ogres' plans and weaknesses. On the morning we draftees marched off to training camp, the entire village turned out to cheer for us. A lute played and a balladeer sang us off to war, and our wives wept with pride."**

**"****I've tangled with an ogre or two," Zelena remarked, off-handedly. "The smell is atrocious. They do indeed eat men—and women. Go on."**

**"****On the evening before our first battle, the Seer was brought forth. They had her locked in a wagon; they were withholding food and water to force her to cooperate. I was ordered to guard her, to prevent her from escaping. She called out my name—she knew it—she knew my wife's name, and so I believed her when she said that Milah was pregnant."**

**"****Aww, a widdle biddy Dark One. Go on."**

**"****She foretold my child's fate: my actions on the battlefield would result in my son's growing up fatherless." Rumplestiltskin bit his lip to hold back the rest of the story.**

**"****So, she predicted you would die. Obviously she was mistaken. Or a liar. Or Milah's kiss brought you back from the dead. Which was it?"**

**"****None of the above. I tried to cheat the Fates by injuring myself so I would be sent home. I returned to find my son had already been born and my wife, along with the entire village, had turned against me. The reports of my cowardice had preceded me."**

**She tapped her chin. "Hmm, now who was it who once told me the laws of magic must be obeyed? And, hmm, didn't this same person tell me the Fates possess the most powerful magic of all?"**

**His hands trembled with anger. He wanted nothing so much as to wrap those hands around that long, alabaster neck of hers. **

**"****So you became the village reject and your pretty wife kicked you out of her bed."**

**"****Yes." His voice shuddered.**

**"****Humiliated you, I suppose. Called you names. Punished you in passive-aggressive ways too, like, say, burning your toast or spitting in your porridge."**

**"****Yes."**

**"****Your pretty, gray-eyed, sixteen-year-old wife."**

**"****Seventeen, by then."**

**"****Refused to let you hold your son. Or was it the opposite? Made a woman of you, leaving you to change the nappies while she gossiped with the neighbors."**

**"****Yes."**

**"****And. . .your pretty, young wife took her lusts elsewhere? Seeking a real man for her bed?"**

**"****Yes. No." He shook his head fiercely. "She wasn't like that. She did. . .she did run off to taverns to drink and flirt, but she came home to me, and she tried, tried to tell me what she wanted, needed; she gave me one last chance but I didn't realize it then. We should have left like she wanted, but I wouldn't go. I suppose I thought I deserved the rejection, or maybe I thought there was nowhere to run. When I refused to leave Loameth, she went looking for—yes, a real man. And she found one."**

**"****Handsome?"**

**"****Yes."**

**"****Tall?"**

**"****Yes."**

**"****A hero?"**

**"****A pirate."**

**"****Oooh, a bad boy." Zelena licked her lips. "Did you catch them in bed?"**

**"****No!"**

**"****Did you catch them at all, or did she just run off in the dead of night, never to be heard from again?"**

**"****Caught them." He stared a hole into the concrete at his feet. "Drinking. Gambling. Laughing."**

**"****Together or at you?"**

**"****Both. And then, a few days later, a neighbor told me the pirate had kidnapped her. I hurried to the docks to rescue her."**

**"****Found your courage, did you?"**

**"****Apparently not. I had no sword to fight him; I had no money to buy her back."**

**"****You went onto his ship and in front of his crew, with no weapon in hand, you demanded he release her. And, thrilled with your devotion to her, she ran flying into your arms."**

**"****I begged him to release her for Bae's sake. He challenged me to a duel. I didn't pick up the sword."**

**"****And he and his crew and your wife laughed at you, and then you had to face the truth: she'd gone with the pirate willingly."**

**He stared at the floor. Since she hadn't asked a question, he wasn't obliged to reply.**

**"****And your son grew up knowing his father was not only a war deserter and a weakling but a cuckold."**

**"****I told him the pirate had killed Milah."**

**"****Too cowardly to tell your son the truth."**

**"****He was six years old. He needed to think his mother hadn't abandoned him."**

**"****A coward, a cuckold and a liar. My, my, Rumple." She made her now-empty glass and the lounge chair vanish as she stood up, looking down on him. "You know, I think my instincts were right when I put you in that dog kennel, because you're nothing but a whipped pup." **

**Her heels clacked on the wood steps as she left the cellar.**


	7. Chapter 6

9 May 2014

Belle reached for her cell phone as she gave the front door of the library a little push. The lock showed no sign of damage: whoever had broken in, had done so with a key. Only two people besides herself had a key for the library: Leroy, who cleaned the building twice a week, and Mayor Mary Margaret.

Except. . . Rumple had said something about Regina at one time having had a set of master keys to every building in town. . . .Belle had assumed he was exaggerating, but. . . .

"Opening hours are clearly posted on the front door." Belle hardened her voice as she approached the ex-mayor. "If you were so anxious to read the latest Danielle Steele, you could have called me. I would've opened early for you."

Regina glanced up from the pile of books she'd scattered on a table. She still thought of the town as hers, so she didn't bother to feign embarrassment at being caught. "You were on your honeymoon. And no, Ms. Gold, I don't read Danielle Steele."

Curiosity quickly replaced anger as Belle eyed the stack of books. Some were dictionaries for languages of magical lands; some were histories for the same lands. Belle picked one up and read the title aloud: "Census, Land of Oz, Reign of Halloran. Who are you looking for, Regina? Perhaps I can help."

The former queen sneered, then reminded herself of two facts: one, she was no longer an evil queen, so was under no obligation to keep up that appearance; two, the bookworm had pulled off some pretty incredible research in the recent past, so maybe she could help. "It seems I have an existing blood relative I never knew about. Just out of curiosity–or maybe as a forewarning–I thought I'd try to find something out about him."

"Him." Belle picked up a notepad and a pen from the Reference Desk and came round to sit across from Regina.

"It appears I have a nephew, or a half-nephew, anyway, who may or may not be magical."

Belle blanched. "And who may decide to come here looking for his mother."

"A far cry from Danielle Steele, wouldn't you say, Ms. Gold?"


	8. Chapter 7

**July 2013 **

**The acrid odor of her expelled magic brought him out of a half-sleep and he jerked up out of the pile of straw he'd formed into a bed of sorts. A tray in her hands, she was staring at him; when she noticed he was awake, she slid the tray under the space between the bars of the cage and the floor. "Just looking," she quipped, as though she was a shopper speaking to a sales clerk. "You look different now—I can almost see the lash marks on your back." At his puzzled frown, she elucidated, "You know. 'Whipped,' they call it here."**

**"****That was long ago," he growled. Then he clamped his jaw. He should know better by now than to allow her to goad him. **

**"Where is she now, your Milah? Did Regina bring her here with your curse?"**

**"Dead."**

**"Old age? Or did she die young, from a life of carousing and cavorting with pirates?"**

**He bared his teeth at her. "She died of a crushed heart."**

**Taken aback momentarily, Zelena raised her eyebrows. "So. . .her pirate abandoned her? Or are you saying she came to regret abandoning her husband and child?"**

**He shook his head slowly. "I said 'crushed,' not 'broken.'"**

**"Well, then." Zelena cleared her throat. "What happened to change the sniveling spinner into the heart crusher?"**

**"You know: magic." It was a tiny victory, but it gave him a particle of hope. She controlled him, but he could, perhaps, still manipulate her in small ways through his own version of shock and awe.**

**"Really. I shall have that story from you, one day soon, but first." She held out her hand and a nail appeared in her palm. "A gift for you, in payment for yesterday's story. For each story, I'll give you another." She tossed it into the cell and he caught it. "When you finish, I won't need the dagger any more—oh, I'll keep it for old times' sake, but I won't need it. When you've finished telling me your story, you'll belong to me."**

**The voices competed with hers for attention. He had trouble concentrating. He pressed his thumb against the point of the nail, let it pierce his skin just enough to draw a drop of blood, just enough to give him a jolt of pain that cleared his head. "I don't understand."**

**"****That's Milah's," she nodded at the nail. "The first nail in the coffin."**

**"****Coffin?"**

**"****Of your humanity. One by one, while we wait for Snow White's baby to arrive, you're going to pound in the nails. And when the last nail has secured the lid, we'll bury your humanity and you will belong to me. You see, I know how much safer you feel in confined spaces. Now eat," she commanded, and he picked up the Fido bowl. She'd provided him a spoon this time (sometimes she didn't, preferring, she admitted, to watch him lick his fingers). The bowl contained oatmeal flavored with cinnamon, and that made him think of Henry and Ms. Swan, and that made him think of Bae, but she preferred, apparently, that he think of Milah. It was her way of swinging the emotional control back around to her possession.**

**She cocked her head, her floral-scented hair falling over one shoulder (damn her, she was using the same brand of shampoo as Belle—which warned him that she'd been to see Belle, which alarmed him until he reminded himself that if the witch had harmed his beloved, the witch would certainly be bragging about it now.) "Was she your first love? Miss Milah, I mean."**

**He snorted. "Yeah."**

**"****But you crave the burn of the lash, apparently, because now there's mouthy Miss Belle. But she's different, you're going to tell me: she's kind, gentle, ethical. Vanilla. I suppose there's a story there, but a boring one. You shall tell it to me when I need to be lulled to sleep."**

**Silently he released a pent-up breath. He scooped up a mouthful of the oatmeal—he'd learned to eat fast, lest she take offense at something and yank the food away.**

**She conjured her lounge chair again and as she stretched out across it, she pondered. "Hmm. It's still early—oh, you wouldn't know that, would you? Poor dearie, no windows to look out. Too early for anything heavy, so I'll have a mimosa" (the drink appeared in her outstretched hand) "and a story about. . .hmm. . . something sentimental. Long ago, when you gave me my first lesson, you mentioned a father, but you said nothing about your mama. Mamas are so important in a child's upbringing, don't you think?"**

**"****I never met her."**

**"****Poor baby." She made a mockery of a sad face. "Did she die giving birth to you?"**

**"****I don't know. He wouldn't tell me."**

**"****What did he tell you? What was her name, for instance?"**

**"****I don't know. She was. . . not to be discussed."**

**"****Brought up bad memories for him, did she?"**

**"****More likely, no memories at all. He had no fond feelings for anyone."**

**Zelena plucked the little beverage umbrella from her drink and tossed it away. "No mama, then. That explains your relationship with Milah."**

**"****She was sixteen," he snapped. "Hardly old enough to leave her own mother."**

**"****And yet, you tumbled for her. Miss Belle too, barely out of her teens."**

**"****She's twenty-nine!"**

**She mimicked his voice. "And very mature for her age!" She snorted a laugh. "And here you are, what? Fifty?"**

**"****In this world, fifty-two," he admitted between clenched teeth. **

**"****In our world?"**

**"****Roughly, three hundred." **

**"****And yet you still chase after whip-wielding little girls. Seeking the mama you never had. Quite the cradle robber, aren't you?" She leaned forward as if to speak conspiratorially. "****_I_**** have a whip, Rumple. Want to play?" When he shook his head fiercely, she leaned back and sipped her drink. "Too early in the morning, anyway. Perhaps tonight. Mmm, I can see you drooling in anticipation. So. Papa. You mentioned long ago, he abandoned you. Tell me that story."**

**His hand slid into his hair. "He was—he thought he was—a con man. Card games, shell games. His name was Malcolm."**

**"****He raised you."**

**"****I raised myself. I met him for the first time when I was about seven. He'd left me with a farm family. They were kind. I worked for them, but they fed me well and taught me to read and cipher, just as they taught their own children. Then Malcolm came to take me back. To see the world and have adventures, he said, but I soon found out I was to be part of his game. A pickpocket to work the crowds, a distraction when his cheats were discovered, a 'get out of jail free' card when the constables arrested him. We had adventures, all right: eating from garbage cans, sleeping in livery stables, hiding in alleys from angry victims of his sloppy games. I tried to run away, but when some men trapped him and began to beat him, I had to go back."**

**Her eyebrows raised. "Little Rum saved his papa."**

**"****I cried and they let him go."**

**"****And he scooped you up in his arms and hugged and kissed you and thanked you and promised to reform."**

**"****He boxed my ear."**

**She sniffed. "So that was your role model for proper parenting. I suppose you grew up vowing you'd never be that kind of father to your own children."**

**"****Yes."**

**"****He used you, hit you, then abandoned you again."**

**"****He was a terrible con man. He had no skills of any kind, no patience for learning, and he thought himself too clever for manual labor, so he wouldn't seek any other kind of employment. He kept saying, 'Just a tweak here, a tweak there, and we'll perfect our game, Rumple, and then we'll be rich.' But he wasn't half as clever as he thought, and he never changed the game."**

**"****So, in a backwards way, you can thank him for the man you are today: learned, hard working, clever, a good papa." She smiled slowly. "But the apple doesn't fall far, because, Rum, deep down, you're a failed game player too. Just a little more power and everything will be all right; that's how you play the game, isn't it? But the more power you collect, the less secure you've become—you and your family. Because the people you took from, they're waiting for you in those dark alleys, aren't they?"**

**"****One day, you're going to make a mistake, Zelena, and then you'll find out just how powerful I am."**

**"****Will I?" she chuckled. "You forget, I learned all your tricks." She vanished for a moment, reappearing in his cage, and she chucked him under the chin. "But I'm a much better player." She snapped her fingers in his face. "Roll over, Rum."**

**Gathering his knees under him and tucking in his arms, he rolled onto his back, then onto his belly. She laughed. "Sit up, Rum. Sit up and beg."**

**Kneeling, he straightened his back, raised his arms against his chest and whined. She patted his head. "Good boy, Rum." She bent to whisper in his ear, "Tonight I'll make you lick yourself." Then she pressed something into his hand. "Your reward, Rum. For Papa."**

**When the magic released him, he fell back against his spinning wheel. He opened his palm to find another nail. **


	9. Chapter 8

9 May 2014

Emma's spoonful of ice cream froze midway to her mouth as the bell over Granny's door tinkled and Regina's shadow fell across the table. "Really?" she groaned, with an apologetic glance at her date, followed by a scowl at the intruders.

"We need to speak to you, Ms. Swan."

"Can't it wait? Killian and I deserve a little alone time, after all–"

"So do Rumple and me," Belle snapped. "But that never stopped you and your parents from barging in."

"This is a matter of public safety. Now if you're resigning your position, I'll leave you in peace."

"No," Emma sighed, and Jones offered to send her ice cream back so Granny could refrigerate it. "Marvelous invention, refrigerators–"

"Save your musings for another time. This is urgent," Regina demanded.

"We need to talk to Emma alone," Belle emphasized.

"It's all right, love," Jones said. "I'll amuse myself with the dart board."

"All right. Outside." Emma slid from the booth and led them into the alley. Regina wrinkled her nose at the garbage cans; Belle wrinkled her nose at brick wall, against which, in another lifetime, Lacey had allowed a sleaze bag to grope her.

"Zelena has a son," Regina blurted.

"Crap. Is he a threat?"

"He's five," Belle answered.

"But the time will come when he'll want to find his mother, and if he has half the power she did–" Regina let the thought hang.

"We need to keep an eye on him. Maybe we could influence him." Emma pondered. "Where is he? Who's raising him?"

"As best we can determine, somewhere in Oz," Belle said. "His father is dead, so Zelena left him in the care of one of her henchmen. She had this crazy idea that if she could go back in time and change her history, Cora wouldn't abandon her, Rumple would love her, her son would be reborn and Rumple would be the father."

"You'd have to be crazy to want the Dark One as your baby daddy," Regina quipped, then glanced at Belle. "Bookworms excluded."

"One day, Regina, you and I are going to have a long talk," Belle snapped, "which may result in my stiletto planted in your arse. But for now, we need to, as Emma said, keep an eye on Trajan."

"Well, how do we do that, when we don't have any magic beans to make portals?"

"We do have a damaged magic hat and a slightly damaged portal jumper," said Regina.

"And four powerful magic practitioners who, if they pool their magic–"

Emma gaped at Belle. "Four? I'm all for cooperation, but it would take the entire United Nations to get the Evil Queen, the Savior, the Blue Fairy and the Dark One to work together."

"Well, fortunately for us, we have the little peacemaker right here," Regina touched Belle's shoulder. "Someone who gets along well with all four of us. . . stiletto threats aside."

"The kid is in a whole other world. Maybe he'll be okay where he is. Maybe he won't pull a Henry and come looking for his mom."

"The kid is being raised by flying monkeys," Regina reminded her.

"Well, have you thought about this? If you bring him back here, who's going to raise him?"

"We'll find a family. He won't go into the system," Belle vowed.

"Crap." Emma sighed again. "All right, let me go in and break my date, and then we'll talk to Blue."

"You won't go hungry." Belle opened her tote bag. "I brought hamburgers."

* * *

><p><strong>AN. This story is going to some bleak and cruel places, though I promise a happy ending eventually. It's my attempt–my need–to try to see through Rumple's eyes all the awful things he's undergone since he brought magic to Storybrooke, my theory being that magic is making him pay through the nose for tampering with the natural order. I can also see all these attacks by old enemies as an eventual positive, a chance to exorcise demons. I have no idea if Kitsis and Horowitz are going in this direction; I just hope that making Rumple such an unsympathetic villain in Season 4 will lead _somewhere_. My dread is that Season 4 will end with a lame explanation like "while Rumple was in the Dark vault, Zoso hijacked his body and left Rumple's soul in the primal ooze." Or worse, "it was all a dream." This degeneration of Runple's character has to serve a higher pupose. . . doesn't it? **


	10. Chapter 9

**August 2013**

**He'd lined up the two nails on the lowest-lying crossbar of his cage, so he could look at them as he lay on the floor, just before falling asleep. He knew what she was up to by giving him these nails–and frankly, it was working. Every time his eyes fell upon the nails-every time he even thought about the nails–he was reminded of Milah and Malcolm, and somehow, the memories made his blood both boil and run cold at the same time. **

**He successfully fought off the memories in his waking hours, but the emotions, he couldn't drive away, and his dreams were populated with his former wife and his former father. Sometimes, Bae's psyche stepped in, taking control of his dreams–it had taken some time for Rumple to understand that; he'd dreamt several times of places he'd never seen and people he somehow knew but had never met. Someday, when he'd figured out a way to keep Bae alive outside of himself, he'd thank his son for the respite from the Milah and Malcolm nightmares.**

**He could see where Zelena was going with this: she would break him down emotionally well before he got to the end of his story.**

**"Don't bother trying to get inside my head, dearie," he advised her. "It's already a full house in there."**

**"Well, then, maybe we'll have to evict a few of the current residents, hmm? Exorcise some of your demons. Really, Rumple, you should be paying me for what I'm doing for you. If you'd gone to that cricket psychiatrist, he'd have charged you double, once for you and once for your son." She conjured herself a straight chair this time (and a scotch on the rocks) and laid him out on a couch. A pair of bifocals on her nose and a steno pad in her hand, she announced, "Let's discuss the other being with whom you've shared your head, lo, these many centuries."**

**"Three centuries, not 'many,'" he corrected. "I'm not **_**that**_** old."**

**"Fine. Lo, these three centuries." She clicked a pen open. "Tell me about the Dark One."**

**"What do you want to know?"**

**"I've read some of the books about the history of the Dark One-"**

**"'History' is the wrong word. 'Fables' would be more accurate. No one knows the true story of the Dark One's origins."**

**"Well, it **_**is **_**known that there have been various Dark Ones over the millennia, including a few women."**

**"Yes."**

**"Your immediate predecessor was, before he acquired the curse, a farmer."**

**"Yes. It's believed Zoso was the Dark One for less than a century. He was already an old man when he became the Dark One. In fact, it's said he took the curse to gain immortality, not magic."**

**"And he was ruled through most of his curse by a greedy, land-grabbing nobleman."**

**"Zoso wasn't the brightest bulb in the chandelier."**

**"How did the Dark curse come to you?"**

**Rumplestiltskin ducked his head. "I. . .wasn't the brightest bulb either. He came to me at a time I was most needing help. I was a lame spinner, a war deserter, a cuckold-I owned nothing, not even the respect of my neighbors. Milah had left me long ago. All I had left in life was my son, and he was about to be drafted into the duke's army, to fight ogres. I feared for his life like I'd never feared anything before. With no one to turn to, no money to buy our way out, our back was to the wall. And then a stranger came with information that I thought would mean our salvation. I could gain control of the Dark One, he said, or even take the Dark One's magic for myself; the stranger explained how. I could save my son, I could end the war and save my village."**

**"Be a hero."**

**"Yes."**

**"But what did a spinner know of magic?"**

**He shook his head. "Not enough. That's what the stranger was counting on. I stole the dagger-and in the next moment I learned that the Dark One I now controlled was in fact the same stranger who'd told me what to do. He'd tricked me, and as I was wrapping my mind around that, he goaded me. I exploded-"**

**"Wait. What did he say that pushed your buttons?"**

**"It's not-it doesn't matter-" he sputtered.**

**"Humor me."**

**The magic left him no choice: he had to answer. "Zoso suggested that Bae wasn't my son."**

**Zelena's eyebrows shot up. "Oooh. That Milah had screwed around while you were off at war?"**

**"Bae is my son in **_**every**_** way. Anyone who looks into his face can see me in his features. But bloodlines don't make a man a father. From the moment I first held him, he was mine and I was his. His defender, his provider, his teacher, his counselor, his-" Rumple's voice broke and he had to clear his throat. He finished simply, "His."**

**"So why did you allow an offhand remark to upset you?"**

**He shrugged. "Fear. I'd been living on fear for weeks. When Zoso goaded me, I knew he could manipulate me, and though I held his dagger, I would never control him. So I killed him, and only as he lay dying and laughing at me, and the curse consumed me, did I realize what I'd done. And then I was enraged. It wasn't the first time I'd been tricked, and certainly wasn't the last, but there was an extra layer of hurt to it, because I thought he was like me: an outcast, poor, ageing and disabled. As he died, his appearance changed, becoming more monstrous, less human, and then I understood he'd used a glamour to make himself look like a peasant so that I would trust him."**

**"What did it feel like, all that power surging into your body? I've never known what it was like not to have magic."**

**He licked his chapped lips, remembering exactly. "I felt the weakness and fear draining from me as the magic filled me. I felt physically strong for the first time in my life, and I was: I could lift a haywagon, driver included, with one hand. I could snap my fingers and make ogres drop to their knees, quaking. No one would ever harm me or my son again. I thought I'd never be afraid of anything, ever again."**

**Zelena snickered. "Who needs riches or titles when you have strength like that?"**

**"But it's a lie." His voice dropped to barely a whisper. "Magic is like steroids: makes you think you're more than you are. You know that the strength isn't yours, and so it can be taken away any time. Belle has always said that using magic is a cheat. What she doesn't know is that the person who's being cheated the most is the mage. The one using the magic is being used by the magic."**

**"You're an old man, Rumplestiltskin." The witch stood and made her chair, her notepad and her bifocals vanish. "You're too tired for this sort of power. Someone should do you a favor and take your magic away."**

**He lifted his face to search hers. "You?"**

**"No," she chuckled. "I'll use your magic while it's still in you, thanks very much. I have no intention to take on your curse." She paused on the bottom step leading out of the cellar. "Because I _am_ the brightest bulb in the chandelier. Here. For Zoso." She tossed a nail into his cage before walking out.**


	11. Chapter 10

9 May 2014

The nun known in this world as Sister Bernadette (formerly the fairy known as Chartreuse) had to leap to one side to avoid being trampled by an angry mob, or so it seemed, for the convent seldom had visitors. In actuality, the mob consisted of three women, only one of whom could be described as anything close to angry (Regina, who always seemed peeved about something). But Bernie stepped aside, the women entered and looked around, and Regina demanded, "The head lightning bug. Where is she?" To which Emma added,"We need to talk to Blue ASAP."

Bernie led them to Mother Superior's study, tucked into the eastern corner of the building. As they walked through the convent, Regina's sharp eyes quickly appraised the values of the objects d'art and the furnishings, both for monetary value (a shame churches didn't have to pay taxes) and for magical value (a few odds and ends, including a shelf of spell books, but nothing Regina hadn't seen before). "Reverend Mother, visitors," Bernie announced before backing away.

"Blue, we need your magic," Emma said, helping herself to the only chair in front of the nun's desk. Regina and Belle were left to stand behind her.

"Nothing like getting right to it," Regina muttered. "But Ms. Swan is correct. We've just learned that my half-sister left behind a dependent, and we need to rescue him."

"Her five-year-old son," Belle explained, "left in Oz."

"Son," Blue repeated, testing the word. "Zelena has a son."

"Had," Emma corrected. "She left him with some of her flying monkeys. Obviously he'd be better off here."

"The problem is, without that field of magic beans," Belle shot Regina a cutting look, "we can't make a portal. Our hope is that if you and Emma and Regina pool your magic, there might be enough power to regenerate Jefferson's hat, and then we can send someone to Oz to find Trajan. Please, Reverend Mother, he's only five. What kind of a life will he have if he's left with Zelena's minions?"

" He won't always be five," Regina added. "With a bloodline like his, he could well grow into a powerful warlock and decide to punish the town that killed his mother."

"I see." Blue sat down on the edge of her desk. "You're quite sure about all this."

"We're sure."

"What you're proposing, if I understand correctly, is dangerous for all of us. Combining light and dark magic produces a force that's unstable and unmanageable."

"Regina and I have done it before. Successfully."

"I notice that Rumplestiltskin isn't with you. Do you intend to involve him? His knowledge of magic is much more extensive than any of ours."

The women exchanged a worried glance before Belle answered, "After what Zelena put him through, it would be asking too much. It's been less than a week. He's still recovering." In a lower voice, she added, "And grieving."

Emma cleared her throat. "We think we can manage without him."

"Besides," Regina dared to broach the subject the others hadn't touched," we don't know yet what damage has been done to him, or how angry he might be. He was never all that trustworthy to begin with, and if he's pissed at us for what Zelena did-"

"Don't you mean, pissed at you because none of you 'heroes' or 'saviors' lifted a finger to help him over the year she had him locked up?" Belle snapped.

"To be fair, for the better part of that year, we were busy just trying to rescue ourselves," Regina said.

"So, short answer, no, we're not asking him," Emma summarized.

"But we will tell him what we're doing," Belle insisted.

"Now wait a minute. We never agreed to that," Emma cut in. "You tell him and he could blow the whole operation apart with a flick of his finger. Bet he would, too. After what she did to his son, no reason he'd want to help Zelena's."

"You have a point, Ms. Swan."

"Well, I'm not going to keep secrets from him. That's how things go from bad to worse," Belle argued. "He may just surprise you. He had a soft spot for kids."

"Yeah, he proved that when he shot an arrow at Roland," Regina sniped. "You're supposed to be smart, Ms. French. Act like it. Keep your mouth shut."

"Sorry, Belle, I'm with Regina on this one," Emma said.

"I didn't call for votes."

"Well, at least wait until we find out if we can fix Jefferson's hat before you tell him," Blue advised. "You may be upsetting him for nothing, otherwise."

Emma fished out her cell phone. "All right, ladies, it's time to pay a visit to the mansion on the hill."


	12. Chapter 11

**September 2013**

**He'd tried to keep count of the days, but between the chaos in his head and the lack of visual clues to the passing of time, he'd soon lost count. But one morning as she trudged down the stairs, Zelena seemed extra sleepy and unusually sloppy in both her appearance and her precautions, for she left the cellar door open. A gust of wind brought in a ballet of orange, yellow and red leaves and the scent of a recent, cleansing rain; he filled his lungs and his eyes, so starved he was for the natural world. Without a greeting, she shoved his tray (cold oatmeal, dry toast, lukewarm coffee) under the cage door and turned to go. **

**When she was tired like this, she tended to be less perceptive and less suspicious; he'd learned that was the best time to ask a favor. He took a chance. "Zelena." He gentled his tone. "What month is this, please?"**

**"****By the local calendar, September." She turned to leave.**

**"****And the date, please?"**

**"****I think it's the 15****th****." **

**He didn't press for more information. "Thank you for breakfast." He dug his spoon into the oatmeal (flavorless; she'd forgotten the cinnamon) and pretended to have an appetite. She left without comment.**

**He spent the rest of the day weaving together stands of spun gold into a bracelet. If he ever got out of here, this would be his gift to Belle, for September 17****th**** would be her thirtieth birthday. The thought both gave him hope and pissed him off. If she'd chosen to love anyone ordinary, she would be spending her birthday bemoaning the fact that she'd reached the milestone of thirty, and her love—no doubt, her husband, probably a plumber or a farm implements salesman—would be reassuring her of her continuing youthful beauty. And then their kids would come clattering in from play, with hand-drawn birthday cards and bouquets of dandelions in their sticky little hands.**

**The three Fates must have been drunk on that day thirty years ago when they got Belle's life threads tangled up with the Dark One's.**

**In the evening, Zelena returned with a take-out box from Granny's. The food had gone cold, but at least it was substantial and flavorful: meatloaf, mashed potatoes, green beans and a dinner roll. It was more than his stomach could take at once, so much time having passed since he'd last had a complete meal. He ate slowly and when she wasn't looking, squirreled away the roll and the beans for later. **

**"****Well, doll, I have a surprise for you," she crowed, and with a snap of her fingers a plate containing a slice of cake appeared on his spinning stool. A single pink candle, its wick dancing with a tiny flame, sat atop the cake. "Devil's food. Seemed appropriate." She was quite pleased with her cleverness. She expected thanks, so he gave it.**

**"****Oh, and I was mistaken: today is the 17****th****. Since you asked me today's date this morning, I assume you can guess what we're celebrating."**

**He dared not make eye contact with her, lest she see his nervousness. "How did you find out?"**

**"****They were having a small celebration for her at Granny's. The old woman, the tarty waitress and the cook; they'd baked her a cake—her favorite, she said."**

**"****Red velvet," he murmured. **

**"****And the hairy dwarf came in with a gift from the lot of them. Some book; I didn't see the cover, but she seemed pleased. And they sang the birthday song—not a one of them could carry a note in a bucket, but she smiled graciously, because that's what princesses do, right?"**

**"****Duchesses," he corrected. "She was a duchess." **

**"****Until she met you and became the Dark One's toy."**

**He bit the spoon to keep from cursing. He needed her to continue her report; he was starved for news of Belle, but more importantly, he had to know if Zelena had hurt her in any way. "And what happened after the birthday song?"**

**Zelena shrugged. "It got awkward after that. They'd run out of ideas, I suppose. I got the impression none of them really socialize much with her, because the conversation was pretty stale, the usual 'how are things at the shop' kind of talk. Then some of the sanitation crew wandered in on their lunch break, and the party broke up. She went back to the shop—alone." She leaned against the bars of the cage. "There, isn't that a nice surprise, doll? Your lover is loyal. She sleeps alone in that ratty little apartment above the library."**

**"****Thank you, Zelena," he said, because she expected it—and because he meant it for once.**

**"****Now." She straightened up and with a flick of her fingers produced her lounge chair and a strawberry daiquiri. "Story time." She made herself comfortable. "Seems appropriate that we have her story today. I already know how you met her—quite the comedy, that tale! I would have liked to have been the fly on the wall to witness you telling her papa that you'd save his dukedom from the ogres only if he surrendered his precious only child to you. How ever did you come up with that idea?"**

**"****There were already rumors floating about that I dealt in babies, so I thought, why not give them what they expect? Bared teeth and growls can only go so far; one must occasionally do something horrifying to keep up one's image."**

**The witch hooted with laughter. **

**And because the magic wouldn't allow him to lie to her, he had to admit, "I'd heard reports of her: how, when she was a tot, her doting father had allowed her to play beneath the conference table in his war room as he and his generals strategized; how, when she learned to read, her mother granted her uncensored use of the library; and how her tutors taught her politics and rhetoric and philosophy and history, along with dancing and embroidery. I'd spied on her a time or two, after the ogres attacked her village, and I found the reports were true: she was as vocal as her father in the war room, and as clever as any of his generals. I saw her behind the lines with the nurses, tending the wounded. I saw her tear her ball gown into bandages, and without shrinking back, wash the blood from the torn bellies of the dying. I saw her in the chapel, praying on her knees for the soldiers, and I saw her carrying baskets of food from the castle kitchens to the homes of war widows."**

**"****How noble." Zelena wrinkled her nose. **

**"****I thought a mind so independent as that could withstand life in the Dark Castle, and a heart so stout as that could perhaps tolerate me."**

**"****You were. . .****_lonely_****?" the witch blinked. "With all your sorcerer acquaintances? With Regina hovering about?"**

**"****Mages don't make the best of friends, dearie; I'm sure you've observed that yourself. Occasional allies, certainly; someone to trade spells or potions with, the way cooks trade recipes; and on a rarer occasion, a sympathetic ear. But rivalry is always present, even between mages of longstanding acquaintance and trust. I'm sure you're no stranger to such loneliness."**

**"****I have been." She lowered her head; when she raised it again, she'd shaken off her vulnerability. She taunted, "So the Dark One was lonely."**

**"****To an extent, though that was not my reason for seeking a caretaker for my house."**

**Zelena's eyes lit up with mischief. "You wanted a slave to play with." She toyed with the necklace at her throat. "A bedwarmer."**

**"****No, dearie. I wanted a governess."**

**"****A—what?"**

**"****A governess. It wouldn't be long, you see, until Regina cast my curse and I would be sent to the new world, along with everyone else. Once the savior had carried out her responsibilities, the curse would be broken, I would find my son, and I would bring him back to live with me. My calculations were off, however; time runs faster here than in the Enchanted Forest. I thought the curse would bring us to this world thirty years before my son arrived here. And because he and I hadn't been on the best of terms when we parted, I thought a go-between would help us to reestablish our relationship. Hence, a governess."**

**"****I see. But I heard the curse separated you from Belle."**

**"****Not the curse: Regina."**

**Zelena got rid of her drink and set her elbows on her knees, bending forward in anticipation. "Ooh, tell me more!"**

**"****Before the curse was cast, she came between Belle and me." Then he corrected himself. "She tried to trick Belle into robbing me of my magic."**

**"****With the dagger?" Zelena gasped. "Did Belle try to stab you with the dagger?"**

**"****How little you know of heroes, dearie," he muttered. "Regina told her True Love's Kiss could free me from the Dark curse."**

**"****How delicious! So of course, naïve little sweetheart locked lips with you—" Zelena stopped herself to frown. "But that must mean her love isn't true, because obviously, the kiss didn't work. Or was it you who didn't love her?"**

**He turned his shoulder to her so she couldn't see his expression. "I stopped the kiss. Without my magic, all my plans would fail and I would never find Bae."**

**"****Oh, I would have loved to see the look on Belle's face! What did you do? Did you slap her for trying to take your magic? Did you turn her into a frog and threaten to yank her legs off for a snack?"**

**"****I. . .shook her and yelled at her. Then I locked her in the dungeon. And when I had cooled down, I sent her away. Regina captured her and hid her away, but told me that she had committed suicide."**

**"****And you ****_believed _****her? Against what your own eyes had told you about Belle's strength, you believed she would kill herself in despair of losing. . .****_you_****? Typical man! With everything you knew about Regina, you—" Zelena shook her head in amazement. "There's just so much wrong with that picture, I don't know where to begin."**

**He agreed with her. "I was a fool."**

**"****I repeat: men! Instead of believing the Queen of Mean, why didn't you check out the story for yourself?"**

**"I expected the worst****. I. . .thought I had ruined Belle, caused her family and her people to think her tainted."**

**"****Supposing they did think she had screwed the Dark One. Would they dare mess with the Dark One's bedwarmer?"**

**"****The Dark One's discard," he amended bitterly.**

**"****All right," Zelena sighed in frustration. "So you, what, remembered you were the Dark One and went raging out into the night and slaughtered everyone in Belle's castle."**

**"****No. I shut myself away for several years, until the time was right to set the curse into motion."**

**"****You, the most powerful sorcerer in the world. You shut yourself away. Huh! Well, why did you throw Belle out of your castle to begin with? Why didn't you just, I don't know, spank her for her impudence?"**

**"****When she kissed me, I realized there was no going back. I was in big trouble."**

**"****Because Regina now knew your weakness?"**

**"****Because the Kiss would have worked." **

**Zelena mulled this over. "Because. . .you were in love. You know, this all could have been avoided if you hadn't panicked when she kissed you. There ****_are_**** ways to get around that 'kiss-breaks-curse' thing. You, with your library of spell books and your laboratory of potions, could have found a work-around easily enough. But you weren't thinking like a sorcerer; you were thinking like a boy suffering his first heartbreak, because you were in love." She studied him. "And still are." She thought for a long moment. "And so there are two ways to destroy the Dark One: with his dagger or with his lady love." She conjured the dagger and picked her fingernails with its tip as she contemplated. "So, if I wanted to cause you serious damage, I wouldn't kill you with this—because after all, I don't want all the misery that goes with being the Dark One. No, I would just. . .kill Belle. Slowly. With you watching." She grinned with a flash of inspiration. "Or better yet, make you do it." **

**His voice shuddered. "If you harm her, or force me to harm her, in any way, the bottommost layers of Hell won't be deep enough for you to hide from me. You know it as well as I do: someday you'll slip up, and then you'll experience the full meaning of suffering."**

**She pretended to ponder a moment, but he could see her foot jiggling with nervousness. She made the dagger vanish with a casual wave of her hand. "As entertaining as that all sounds, Rumple, my plans will go smoother if I have your cooperation. So your sweetie is safe from us."**

**He tried to take advantage of the opening. "What are your plans, Zelena? I can't help you with them if I don't know what they are."**

**"****Not yet, doll. Besides." She conjured a new nail in her palm, smaller and shinier than the rest. "You haven't earned Belle's nail yet. Come, let's give her a birthday present." She snapped her fingers and placed in his lap a hand-mirror and a box of stationery (a child's set, the pen tuffed with a pink fuzzy ball and the paper decorated with prancing unicorns that looked little like the real beasties back in the forest). "We'll write her a love note, shall we? For inspiration, you may look into the mirror."**

**When he hesitated to pick up the mirror, she chuckled. "No, dear, not at your ugly mug." A puff of violet magic coated the surface of the mirror; when it dissipated, he was gazing at Belle's face as her dark-ringed eyes, bruised from lack of sleep, traveled across runes painted onto a crumbling scroll. "She works so diligently on your behalf," Zelena mock-sighed. "Doesn't she deserve a token of your devotion? Start writing."**

**He picked up the pen. Despite being watched, he thought he could manage to open up his heart and his thoughts, if he knew for sure Belle would get this letter, so he began, "My darling Belle."**

**Suddenly he felt the witch's presence. She was standing over his shoulder. "Very nice. Now, this won't be the clichéd love letter. It's coming from the Dark One, after all. No, what you're going to write is a list of all the ways you've wronged her. Chronological order, order of importance, I don't care, as long as it's specific and complete."**

**His hand shook and he glared up at her.**

**"****Don't dawdle. It's going to be a long enough night as it is. Here, I'll get you started. 'Number One: I took you away from your loving parents and your duchy.' 'Number Two: I made you a slave.'"**

**His hand was forced to write as she dictated, though his heart trusted that Belle would understand these were not his words. **

**Well, not his words, but they were mostly true nonetheless. When Zelena ran out of breath and information, he continued on, listing all the things other people had done to Belle in an attempt to get to him. Only then could he get down to the real confession: all the secrets he had kept from Belle because he was afraid of her rejection—worse, of her affection turning to revulsion when she came to understand who he really was.**

**Zelena grew bored of her game long before he had finished his letter. She went off to bed; he continued to write until he ran out of paper. In the morning, when she brought him his breakfast, he offered her the letter. He didn't care if she read it, as long as she delivered it to Belle.**

**"****Very good, doll." She traded the shiny nail for the letter. As he ate the breakfast (Corn Flakes this time; she couldn't be bothered with cooking today) she read the first two pages, then began skimming, then gave up somewhere around page seven. "This is ridiculous," she complained. "You're supposed to be the darkest soul walking this earth, but this silly little girl has you begging for mercy." She dropped the letter and threw a fireball at it. As they watched it burn, she huffed, "If you had chosen me, you'd have kings and popes kneeling at your feet." When nothing was left of the letter but ashes, she stamped out the fire and blew the ashes away. "It wasn't a total waste of time: at least now I know how best to torture you. Stupid little man." She vanished in an indignant cloud of magic.**

**He clutched the nail tight. "Aye. Stupid." And selfish, unforgivably selfish.**


	13. Chapter 12

9 May 2014

"So you're not going to ask him?" Jefferson shook his head as he contemplated the thought. "I don't know. The hat is awfully beat up. Without his magic–"

"Here, show me the hat," said Regina.

Solemnly, as if he were conducting a funeral, the hatter fetched from his closet a box containing the tattered remains of what was once a black silk top hat. He set the box on the coffee table, removed the lid, removed the contents, then set them carefully beside a bowl of artificial flowers on the table. "When you have a one hundred seventy pound prince throw himself upon a size 7 and 3/8 hat in the hopes of fitting into it to chase after his wife and daughter, this is the result." His voice was mournful.

The hat was indeed unrecognizable as such, but Regina took it into her hands, closed her eyes, and infused it with a blast of magic. When her hands stopped glowing, she sat the now reconstructed hat onto the table and smiled proudly. "There. Trust me now?"

"Well done," Belle applauded.

"All you did was repair the hat." Jefferson inspected his treasure.

"It's as good as new," Regina argued.

"But it's just a hat. Swell if you want to go trick-ot-treating as Fred Astair, but if you want to jump realms, useless."

"Well, I've only just started. When Emma, Blue and I pour our energies into it, this hat will be our magic carpet ride to Oz."

"Magic carpet," Belle mused. "Do those things really work? I thought they were just in fairy tales."

Jefferson inspected the hat thoroughly before returning it to its box. "Very well, we'll give it a try, but to be on the safe side, I'm taking only two passengers: one to rescue the kid and one to remain behind in the kid's place." The women frowned at each other. "Forgot about that, did you? The hat's rule: the same number who go in must come out or the magic won't work."

"Well, I'm sure we can dig up another Claude somewhere."

"Oh, no, Your Majesty, I'm not hauling a corpse for you again."

"Corpse?" Emma raised an eyebrow at Regina.

"A story for another time. Fine. I'll check the census books. There's got to be a homesick munchkin in town."

"We'll help," Belle offered.

"Ten-twenty a. m. tomorrow. Meet me here," Jefferson pronounced.

"Why such an odd time?" Belle wondered.

"I have to have my morning tea first, don't I? Wouldn't be civilized otherwise."


	14. Chapter 13

**September 2013**

**"It's been a long time," the witch said, then she stopped and gave him a burning look that informed him of her meaning. But alas for her, even if he hadn't been her slave or just her adversary, even if Belle had never come into his life, he wouldn't have been attracted to Zelena: the scent of black widow spider lay too close to her skin.**

**"I took a paramour once. ****Did you know that? Oh, I'd had plenty of-what do you call them here?-one nighters, but this one I kept a while. Some years after you chased me away, he came to me. He was an ordinary, a knight of Camelot: they have the most exquisite table manners, you know. He was young and had much to learn about the craft of lovemaking, and I taught him. I allowed him to visit me whenever he liked, and spend the night in my bedchambers. He brought me trinkets and wild game for my table; he seemed blissfully unaware that if he displeased me, I could crush his heart. I never did: he satisfied me, as much as an ordinary could. Are you jealous, Rumple? Is that why you're blushing? One morning in the third year of our love, he was called to the frontlines. He asked for my handkerchief as a token to wear into battle. I didn't disillusion him: witches have no need of handkerchiefs, of course; we never sneeze. But I conjured one for him and he tucked it into his shirt, near his heart. He left me his kiss in remembrance–and a child growing in my womb."**

**"You have a child?" Rumple jerked upright.**

**"A miracle, isn't it? So few mages can bear children. I'll bet Regina can't. I heard her Henry is adopted."**

**"Yes."**

**"And the product of a dalliance between the savior and your son. ****Which would make him your natural-born grandson."**

**"Yes."**

**"But rumor has it you have little to do with Henry. ****Why?"**

**"He skews to the hero side."**

**"So, he avoids you."**

**Rumple shrugged, distracted; if he could find out more about Zelena's child, he might learn her weakness. He would have to be careful, though, not tip her off to his interest. ****"He has two moms, a grandmother and another grandpa, plus he's on the baseball team. His time is claimed."**

**"Does that bother you?"**

**"He'll be curious about me someday. ****Or need money; then he'll come round." He tried to sound nonchalant. "And your child? A son or daughter?"**

**"We're not talking about him. It's your nail for Regina we're working on, not mine for Trajan. Now, I heard you were the one who arranged for Regina to adopt Henry. ****How did that strange coincidence happen?"**

**"The curse gave me a degree in family law. ****Never used it until that moment and haven't since, but it was convenient. As to how it was that the infant I arranged for her to adopt happened to be my own grandson, I have no idea. The Fates, apparently, have some sort of plan there."**

**"Why did she adopt? ****Is she sterile? Or would no one sleep with her?"**

**"She. . . has a hole in her heart. ****She needed love to fill it."**

**"Has it?"**

**"Not entirely. ****She has much to learn yet about giving."**

**"How did she acquire that hole?"**

**"Same way you did yours. ****Bad choices."**

**"Name one."**

**"She let me corrupt her."**

**"You made her evil?"**

**"The tendency was there, but she was barely eighteen when she first called upon me. ****Her accomplishments at the time were limited to some unpleasant thoughts about causing small harm to her mother. That and heavy panting sessions in the barn with her riding instructor. I had to teach her what evil really is."**

**Zelena latched on to the middle sentence. ****He'd considered the odds of her choosing a mom story over the smut pretty even."Tell me about her relationship with Mother."**

**"From the moment of her conception, Regina's future was laid out for her. ****Cora had delusions of grandeur; she herself had risen from poverty to marry, through cunning, a prince, but alas, Prince Henry was fifth in line to a throne which the occupant wasn't about to depart from. Having a queen in the family would be Cora's big F-you to the people who had snubbed her. I had plans for Regina as well, plans that she fulfilled to a T. A bit slow about it, but wholeheartedly, once she committed to the project."**

**"The curse."**

**"And the Fates, who outrank and outlast us all, dearie–you'd do well to accept that–they had planned something different for Regina: motherhood."**

**"How did they get along, Mother and Regina?"**

**"Regina was a bit stressed already; add to that her own volatile nature, a marked contrast to her mother's cold calculations, then throw in magic from all parties–well, except poor, clueless Prince Henry-and sparks flew."**

**"So they fought a lot."**

**"Regina's first word wasn't 'dada;' it was 'no.' Cora, through her coldbloodedness and her magic, always won, so much so that Regina and her stable boy decided to run away. Cora caught them, yanked his heart out, sent Regina to her room to await a better catch of husband, and so my curse caster was formed, though it took me years to shape her."**

**"I know. ****I spied on her lessons. I would have cast your curse much faster and to perfection if you'd chosen me."**

**"Now, now, missy, we discussed that at the time. ****One of the ingredients of the curse is the heart of the thing you love the most. You loved only me, and since the intent of the curse was to bring me to this land, killing me off would have defeated the purpose. Can't you see that?"**

**"I could have fallen in love." ****She began to pace as she imagined. "I could have found–my paramour, I could have fallen for him. I would have done that, for you. Can't you see that?"**

**"The Fates chose Regina, even before she was born. ****Water under the bridge, dearie."**

**"No!" ****She stormed up to his cage and rattled it. "Don't you get it? This–" she indicated his hunched form in the corner of the cage–"is about no one choosing me! You and her, rejecting me! And choosing a decidedly inferior product over me! This is about fixing the bad call you made."**

**Rumplestiltskin pondered. ****If he could understand her thinking, he could predict her reactions, perhaps, though she'd always been a bit unstable.**

**Starting up the stairs, Zelena wheeled about. ****"You and Cora will choose me next time! Next time it will Regina who's abandoned!" She threw a nail at his face; he caught it. "This one's for me." She slammed the cellar door.**

**In the dark, he began to understand. Abandonment****, he knew a bit about. Zelena was mistaken about one thing, though; this nail couldn't be hers. If it was his coffin he was to pound them into, the nails would have to represent people who had hurt him. The sad truth was, she just hadn't mattered that much to him. No, this nail was Regina's, for by corrupting her, he'd blackened another chamber of his heart and he'd caused Belle awful suffering at the queen's/the mayor's hands. Until her sudden reappearance in his life, Zelena hadn't even merited an afterthought.**

**For just a flicker of a thought, he felt sorry for the witch.**


	15. Chapter 14

10 May 2014

"Ow!" Regina landed on her bustle as she tumbled through the portal. "Jefferson! You did that on purpose!"

"Maybe if you'd roped Rumple in on this venture, the hat would've had enough juice for first-class accommodations," Jefferson snapped back.

"So it's going to be one of those adventures, eh?" The queen surveyed the landscape, with its foliage and sky painted in primary colors. In the distance they heard high-pitched and high-spirited singing. Their traveling companion, soon-to-be-formerly the dance instructor at the Storybrooke Arthur Murray Studios, yelped and with a hasty "'bye!" dashed off in the direction of the music. "So much for munchkins," Regina grumbled. "Their attention spans are as short as–"

"The road," Jefferson interrupted, pointing toward the horizon. Then he elucidated: "The famed Yellow Brick. Leads to the Emerald City."

Regina started forward in the direction he'd indicated, but he grabbed her arm. "No. If town is that way, the Wicked Witch's lair will be," he pointed in the opposite direction. He set out without finishing his sentence. A half-hour into the trek, the sun was beating down on their heads; Regina conjured herself a parasol.

"She has an entire army of them, you know," Jefferson said abruptly. "And monkeys have a keen sense of smell. They'll know we're coming before we're in striking distance. Are you ready for them?"

"I've had plenty of experience with flying monkeys," the queen said drily.

They marched on.

Suddenly a shadow loomed overhead and the flapping of large wings drew their attention skyward. The monkey circling above them was small and (for a monkey) youthful-looking; "a perimeter guard," the hatter determined. "He'll size us up, then fly off to warn the others."

"No, he won't." With a single fireball Regina incinerated the scout.

"They'll smell that. The stench of charred monkey carries for miles. Get ready. Won't be long now."

"This will be fun," Regina chuckled.

"Must you always do things the meat-handed way?" Jefferson huffed. "Why don't we save time with a couple of suitable glamours."

She smiled slowly as the idea dawned on her. Glamour spells had always come hard for her, but if it would save time in the long run and get them back to Storybrooke all the faster, Regina would put forth the effort. She closed her eyes, reciting the spell, and in a moment Jefferson was transformed into–

"Oh my gods," the hatter-turned-Glinda-the-Good-Witch groaned. "Regina! Are you that out of practice?"

"Sorry." The second effort produced the desired result. Monkey-faced Jefferson flapped his wings and rose into the air.

"They won't recognize my scent," he complained.

"You smell like a monkey to me."

"Well, to them I'll smell like a stranger."

"How do you expect me to remember the scent of one of her minions? I burned them as soon as I laid eyes on them."

"Regina. . . "

"Never mind." She transformed Jefferson into a winkie.

"Now you. Picture yourself green. . . ."

"Oh good gods." Regina wrinkled her nose, but his suggestion made sense. Her reluctance made this attempt all the harder to get right, but after several adjustments, she had the green skin and frizzy hair of her half-sister. "Really, she should do something about her split ends. And her taste in clothes. . . ." She shuddered. "One would never know to look at her we were sisters." But straightening the black picture hat on her head, the queen marched on.

The sun had begun its slow slide toward the west when they reached a thick forest. Jefferson paused to inhale the scent of everblue trees and cringing willows. "Ah, almost like home," he said. "I wonder if the mushrooms here are edible."

Regina shot him a cutting look. "Once a fungus hunter, always a fungus hunter. That mansion I created for you in Storybrooke was just a waste of energy, wasn't it?"

Jefferson gave her a half-smile and shrugged. "You know, Your Majesty, the places that make us the happiest are usually the ones where we were surrounded by the people we love. Of course, you may be the exception to the rule."

Regina conceded, "Well, you may have a point. My current home, lovely as it is, is no match for my Spiral Castle, but I prefer it just the same." Her voice lowered. "Because every corner reminds me of Henry." She allowed a small smile to pass between her and her fellow traveler. Perhaps, deep down, they understood each other better than either would admit, because they were in the same parenting boat: each had to share with a second set of parents the custody of the child he/she had raised. If Regina was so inclined to accept advice or emotional support in her struggles to co-parent with Emma, Jefferson would have been a good choice. Someday, perhaps. . . .

A chattering and a flapping of wings pulled their attention skyward: a trio of large flying monkeys—and Regina had had enough experience with the species now to judge sizes—blocked off the sun. They landed on the path leading into the woods, with the largest in front, the others flanking her. The largest sniffed, and apparently was satisfied with Regina's scent ("Eau du Wicked," she called it—a mix of Zelena's perfume, the scent of the foods the witch usually ate, and her natural scent). The lead monkey bowed so low her gray muzzle touched the dirt, and her lieutenants followed suit.

Regina conjured a voice that mirrored Zelena's in cadence as well as accent. Jefferson couldn't help it; right at first, he cringed automatically in reaction to the sound of that feared voice. He slapped on his poker face, however; he'd had plenty of experience hiding his feelings in the presence of non-human beings. Regina was at a slight disadvantage, knowing nothing about Zelena's treatment of her servants, nor her level of involvement in her child's upraising, nor the level of her affection for the boy, so she kept her remarks brief and factual. "Take me to Trajan."

The lead monkey bowed again and rose slowly into the air, just a few feet, enough that she could travel comfortably but not so high that the wicked witch would take offense. The other monkeys joined her, remaining several feet back from those on foot, acting as a rear guard. Without glancing at Jefferson—because after all, Zelena would consider no one but Rumplestiltskin her equal and therefore worthy of walking beside her—Regina started forth, maintaining a yard's distance ahead of the hatter.

Actually, Jefferson preferred this position. It enabled him to keep an eye on the queen from the back, where, if her glamour started to slip, he could spot it and warn her with a previously agreed upon request to pause for rest.

They continued another two miles through the dark woods, where nature suddenly silenced its natural sounds and trees bowed their leafy heads in reverence as they passed through. Jefferson noticed the tension ease out of Regina's shoulders: so far, her guise was working. But he also knew, from conversations with Rumplestiltskin during the young queen's training period, that glamours were a weak area for her. For one thing, they were extremely detailed, and Regina wasn't a detail-oriented individual; for another, Regina had always been proud of her appearance, so she saw little need for glamours.

The lead monkey—Regina wished she knew the creature's name; addressing her by name would have helped to keep up the disguise—brought them to a dark, nearly furnitureless castle in a clearing. What Zelena hadn't expended in décor, she had expended in wards: the castle was thick with them, all secured by blood magic. Jefferson and Regina exchanged a glance, both wondering why Zelena had bothered: who would come here willingly? Completely unlike the Spiral Castle or the Dark Castle, there were no treasures here, no art, no gold, just some tacky old dresses and some dusty old couches. Of course, Regina was sure there were some storerooms for magical objects, potions, ingredients and spell books, perhaps a lab similar to Rumple's, but Zelena could have warded just those rooms and left minimal protection on the castle itself. Apparently, Zelena hadn't taken to heart Rumple's "law of conservation of magic" lessons. Or perhaps they hadn't gotten that far in her training.

For the slightest moment, Regina was almost grateful to Cora: her blood was similar enough to Zelena's to allow her to lower the wards. She did so quickly and effortlessly, barely pausing as she walked in, as if taking down the wards was an everyday occurrence. A glance from the corner of her eye as she entered the Great Hall showed her a twenty-person dining table (a direct copy of Rumple's), with a single, tall-backed seat at the head (just like Rumple's). Yawning as though tired, Regina seated herself at the table, then conjured a second chair to her left for Jefferson. "Bring my son here," she commanded the monkeys; as a lucky afterthought, she added, "And his favorite toy." Then she occupied herself with conjuring and pouring tea and making idle conservation with her traveling companion, as if she fully expected her servants to obey her without question.

The lead monkey flew away, but her lieutenants landed near the front doors and took up sentry there. Regina continued to chatter about brands of tea and a new cookie recipe she'd come upon. She had no idea if Zelena even ate cookies, but the monkeys didn't seem suspicious. Regina's second yawn was genuine: the hike, along with the expenditure of magic, was wearing her out. They'd have to speed this up.

The lead monkey sauntered back into the Great Hall, walking rather than flying, so that she could hold onto the hand of a small, dark-haired boy (in need of a haircut and a bath, Regina judged). The boy was dressed in a sleeping gown and rubbing his eyes-had he been put to bed already? At age five, Henry had had an eight p.m. bedtime; by the position of the sun, the local time couldn't be past five. But Regina didn't allow her surprise to show, since she had no idea what was normal in this household. The boy had a stuffed patchwork dragon under his arm.

Regina conjured a chair for him. "You may be seated, Trajan." She watched the boy's reaction closely: did Zelena call him by his given name, or did she have a nickname for him? Still half-asleep, the boy gave her no clue. "I would like you to meet Mr. Hatter."

"Hello, Trajan." Jefferson smiled easily; his charm was his strongest magic, and he called upon it often. "Or do you have another name you prefer to be called?"

The boy shook his head and clutched his cloth pet. Regina and Jefferson exchanged a quick glance: was the boy simply uncomfortable around strangers or did he suspect something? Recalling how shy Henry had been at this age—how withdrawn he was in his first weeks in kindergarten—Regina chose the easier answer. "Mr. Hatter is an old friend of mine, Trajan. We're going to go visit his house this evening, you and I. Would you like that?"

"I have a daughter named Grace. She has a collection of stuffed animals that she'll be glad to let you play with. I also have a magic box that tells stories, all kinds: funny ones, exciting ones, stories about faraway places. Does that sound good to you?"

"Stories about dragons?" Trajan's voice was still thick with sleep.

"Yes. In fact, one of Grace's favorite stories is called _How to Train Your Dragon_. We can watch that tonight if you like."

Trajan nodded and began to wake up.

"Very good," Regina said. "We'll leave as soon as we've finished our tea." She poured half a cup for Trajan and pushed it towards him, along with the plate of cookies. "Have a little fortification for the journey, Trajan."

The boy seemed puzzled by the language, so Jefferson translated: "A nibble for the road." The boy accepted a cookie, sniffing it first before breaking off a bite; Regina wondered if he'd never tasted a cookie before. Maybe Zelena had been a no-sweets kind of parent. Or maybe she hadn't fed Trajan herself, but left that task to the monkeys, who probably couldn't cook.

"Trajan and I will return later tonight, after our visit," Regina said to the lead monkey—she made no eye contact with the creature, because after all, she was the master and the monkey, the servant. The lead monkey simply stared. Regina distracted her with another order: "You shall clean Trajan's bedroom and mine while we're away. I expect to find the rooms spotless."

The monkey's brow drew down. Uh-oh; apparently Regina had said something wrong. Did the monkeys clean? Or were there other creatures Zelena assigned that task to? Or did her magic take care of domestic chores? Regina hid a gulp behind her teacup.

She stood, conjured a change of clothes for Trajan, then announced, "It's time to go." She held her hand out toward the boy; he stared at it. Had his mother not held hands with him?

Frowning deeper, the lead monkey inched forward; her lieutenants did likewise. Regina seized Trajan's hand, then with her free hand grasped a handful of Jefferson's D & G silk shirt. In a puff of magic, she transported them back to the edge of the forest—she was too tired to take them all the way to the portal. Just as they vanished from the castle, the monkeys pounced.

"A bit slow on the uptake, Your Majesty," Jefferson griped, inspecting his right arm: the sleeve was torn and blood was dripping down his wrist.

"Nasty things." Regina grumbled, releasing her passengers to brush the monkey slobber from her skirt. "Come, Trajan, as I promised, we're going to Mr. Hatter's house to see his magic box and his stuffed animals."

The boy began to cry.

With a sigh, Regina knelt to be on the child's level. "Don't be afraid, Trajan. We're going to have a lot of fun. And I promise, you're going to love Mr. Hatter's house."

The boy struggled to choke back his tears—had his mother not allowed him to cry? Regina swept him up her arms, ignoring his attempts to wiggle free, and with a last huge expenditure of magic—for overhead, they could hear wings beating—she took her passengers the rest of the way to the portal. When they arrived, she had to set Trajan down and lean on Jefferson's shoulder; as much as she resented her neediness, she was too exhausted to stand on her own.

"You okay?" Jefferson patted her back awkwardly.

But before she could answer, Trajan had backed away from her and was staring at her as he shrieked, "Magwa! I want Magwa!"

Puzzled, Regina glanced at Jefferson, who shook his head. "''Magwa'? Is that Ozean for 'Mama'?"


	16. Chapter 15

_**A/N. After four years of guessing, I finally got a prediction right: Rumple's exile. But I would've guessed any other town resident, including Nova, before I'd have guessed the one who did it in 4.11! This story's not going in that direction. I have helpers coming. . . .**_

* * *

><p><strong>A boot prodding him in the ribs woke him and the devilishly handsome face of Captain Hook peering down at him made him bolt to his feet, clutching at empty air when he couldn't find his cane. Pain streaked up his leg and as his ankle buckled under him, he reached out for the spinning wheel, but Hook grabbed his arms instead. As he wrenched away, Hook laughed–a feminine sound that made his head jerk upright, throwing him off balance. "Happy Halloween, doll!" With a single finger, Hook lifted Rumple's chin and kissed his lips.<strong>

**As Rumple's muddy brain reached for rational thought past all the foggy voices, Hook's wry smile dissolved and his bearded face and narrow body became Zelena's. "There now, wouldn't you rather wake up to _me_ each morning?" She conjured his breakfast tray–sausage, toast and scrambled eggs (she must be close to enacting the next stage of her scheme, he realized, to be finally fortifying him with protein). Setting the tray on his stool, she vacated his cage but assumed her usual position–with lounge chair and drink (Bloody Mary)–just beyond his reach. "Eat up, love. And in honor of this world's only holiday meant for the likes of us, your story today will explore your relationship with the dashing and debonaire crocodile hunter."**

**He settled onto the floor, using the bars of the cage for support. "Don't be fooled," he grunted, taking up the coffee she'd provided, "by long legs and chest hair. He's a jackass in leather pants, nothing more."**

**She raised her tall glass of spiked tomato juice in a salute–whether to him or to the pirate, he couldn't guess. He sipped his coffee and attacked the sausage before she could change her mind about feeding him so well. "Let's have his story nonetheless." She settled comfortably and sipped, licking away the drops of seeming blood from her lips.**

**"Barely a footnote, dearie." He waved his fork dismissively. And that was the truth, as far as he was concerned: in the pantheon of Rumplestiltskin haters, Hook could barely be seen for all the truly powerful people (Zelena included) standing in front of him.**

**"Not the way he tells it," Zelena said. "I overheard him in Granny's talking to the tart. He seems to think you and he are epic enemies."**

**Rumple snorted into his coffee (weak, but still, it helped wake him). "A sneak thief, not the swashbuckler he'd have women believe. A sneak thief and a low-rent playboy."**

**"A wife stealer."**

**Rumple amended, "No challenge there. She would have run off with a troll."**

**"A son stealer." He stopped chewing and she chuckled. "I wondered if you knew. He claims that after you abandoned Bae–"**

**"I didn't–" But the magic choked off his lie.**

**"Of course you did, doll. After you abandoned Bae, the boy somehow ended up in the sea, off Neverland, and the _Jolly_ _Roger_ fished him out." At his raised eyebrows, she smirked. "Seems I have a story to tell you, for a change. Yes. Well, Hook 'saved the lad's life,' as he put it. Dragged him out, dried him off, clothed him, fed him, put him to bed and darn near sang him a lullaby. Oh, and hid him from Pan's little army. Seems Pan wanted him–a case of mistaken identity; mistook Bae for Henry. That 'heart of the truest believer' thing. Well, Hook–or as his friends call him, 'Killian,' though I suppose you've never referred to him thus. Killian had custody of your son for about a week–though who can tell time on Neverland? They became quite close."**

**Rumplestiltskin dropped his fork. "Did they now?"**

**"They had much in common. Seems Killian had been abandoned by his father too. But he'd gone on to make something of himself. To hear him, he was the most successful pirate on the high seas."**

**"Dubious distinction."**

**"Envious as well as jealous, doll? Killian taught him how to sail a ship, then offered to make him his second lieutenant. Or, maybe a better word would be 'heir.' Yes, heir. Offered to make him the stepson he and Milah had always intended."**

**"So he told him about Milah. Did he tell him how Milah had come to be in his possession?"**

**"Had to. Bae found a portrait of her in the captain's quarters and demanded an answer. Killian admitted to the affair, but assured Bae it had always been the plan to return for him, once Bae was old enough. There were rough seas between the pirate and his heir presumptive after that, not ameliorated much by Killian's telling him your part in the story. You know, how you ignored her and made her suffer verbal abuse from the neighbors and practically starved the family, because you were too afraid to move to another town, where they wouldn't know you. And then the whole heart crushing thing. Bae was quite upset about that, but hardly surprised, Killian says. Are you? Surprised, I mean. You look it. I suppose you neglected to mention to Bae how his mama died."**

**Rumple gripped the coffee cup. He wanted to fling it against the cage, but she would've punished him for that.**

**She chuckled. "Of course you didn't tell him. That would've required bravery. What did you tell him about his mama?"**

**"That the pirates killed her."**

**"I thought as much. I just wanted to hear you say it." She waved her fingers at him. "Eat, eat. Do you want me to think you're ungrateful for what I provide?"**

**He shoveled egg into his mouth.**

**"Now, where was I? Well, Killian took to Bae right off, offered to adopt him, thought they would bond over their mutual love of Milah, but he wasn't counting on the kid's anger. Bae was understandably upset to learn that Milah had willingly left him to run off with pirates. What kind of mother would abandon her child to run off with a paramour?" She frowned. "Hmm. Seems Bae and I have more in common than he and the pirate do. Anyway, according to Killian, once the boy pieced everything together, that was that. Bae didn't want anything more to do with the captain, other than to kill him, of course. A chip off the old block, eh? Tried to, too, but at thirteen, he was hardly a match for pirates."**

**"Fourteen," Rumple corrected automatically, visualizing the scene. He was proud, yes, of Bae's reaction. "Was he injured–Bae?"**

**"Only emotionally. Betrayed. But wait, it gets worse. When Bae demanded to be allowed off the ship, Killian turned him over to Pan's boys. Once a pirate, always a pirate."**

**"So that's how he fell among the Lost Boys," Rumple muttered.**

**"Now wasn't that a lovely tale? From the clutches of his evil stepfather to those of his even eviller grandfather. You shall tell me that part of the tale soon, but alas, it's time for work. I have a new job, you see, as nurse to Snow White." She stood and conjured a change of clothes, into a very modest English nanny style outfit. "Aren't you going to thank me for the story?"**

**"Thank you, Zelena."**

**"Here's Hook's nail." She tossed a bent, rusty piece of iron at him. "An unimportant nail for an unimportant character in your life. See you at supper, doll."**

**After she'd vanished, he tried to focus on Bae's voice in his head. Past the Dark One's pointless proddings to "Kill the pirate," he thought he heard a single word that sounded a bit like "forgive."**

**But surely he'd misheard.**


	17. Chapter 16

10 May 2014

Regina stumbled as the hat spat her out, but she subtly smoothed her clothes and pretended she'd not taken a misstep; Jefferson had the intelligence to pretend he hadn't caught her pretending. She reached out for Trajan, who was lying on his back and staring at the sky with his thumb in his mouth. "Are you okay, Trajan?" She inspected him for broken bones or lacerations; finding nothing more serious than some bruises, she tried to smile reassuringly. Jefferson, meanwhile, had located the patchwork dragon and had tucked it under Trajan's arm in the vain hope of distracting him from the shocking occurrence he had just experienced.

The situation grew even more shocking: Regina's magic sputtered and gave out. The glamours faded and Jefferson and Regina returned to their pervious forms. Trajan let his thumb fall away and opened his mouth. . . for just a moment not a sound came from his throat, but then he shrieked. The more they tried to hush or comfort him, the longer and the more high-pitched the shriek grew. Regina tried to conjure something, anything to amuse him, but she hadn't an ounce of magic left.

Jefferson motioned to her face, then to his own. "The glamours are gone."

"Oh." She nodded and took Trajan's hands in her own. From long experience, both parents knew that the tantrum would wear itself out eventually, but it wasn't so much the shrieking that worried them as the panic on the child's face. Well, of course he was afraid, the parents' shared expression conveyed the same thought. He had every right to be: he'd just been snatched from his home, from the only world he'd ever seen, by total strangers who, apparently, had no intention of returning him to his mother or his Magwa (whatever that was).

Regina shifted her position, sitting cross-legged on the grass; Jefferson had opened the portal in her backyard so that when they returned, she could immediately go inside to rest. His choice was even more fortuitous, as the hatter soon discovered as he looked around in a desperate desire to escape the tantrum: the backyard featured a sandbox and a swingset, neither of which had been used in several years, but the lawn service had not allowed them to fall into disrepair. Jefferson hooted, "Trajan! Look!" and ran to the sandbox to immediately begin to construct a pyramid of sand.

Trajan wasn't impressed with the hatter's antics but the red-and-white striped swingset drew his notice. His shrieks decelerated. "Trajan," Regina said softly, "I tricked you and I'm sorry. I pretended to be your mother so you would come with me. I brought you here to be safe. I promise you, you'll have everything you need here, and a family and friends and toys and school. You're going to be happy here. Trajan, my name is Regina. I'm your aunt, your mother's sister."

"Where's Magwa?" the boy managed to ask.

"I don't know." It wasn't a lie: Regina didn't even know who or what "Magwa" was, though she assumed the kid meant "Mother." Eventually he'd have to be told his mother was presumed dead, but he'd had too many shocks to deal with already. They'd have to get Archie in on this, to figure out how and when to tell him about Zelena's disappearance.

Jefferson had given up on the sandbox and strolled back to his travelling companions. Brushing his hands together to knock off the sand, he guessed from Trajan's confusion that the boy had no idea what an "aunt" was. The hatter caught on to Regina's mistake and asked, "Trajan, buddy, who's Magwa?"

"Magwa," the boy insisted. "She takes care of me."

Jefferson mouthed the word _monkey_; Regina nodded. The problem had just doubled: How to explain to the child that his mother was dead and his monkey-nanny was now literally worlds away.

Watching the child's face shift between fear, suspicion and hope, Regina sifted her memories. She recalled a bumpy period in Henry's development around age four, when he was convinced a child-eating witch lived in his bedroom closet and if he fell asleep, would sneak out to gobble him up, starting with the toes. No good would it have done to try to talk him out of his belief: he would have only been confused if she had tried to reason with him by explaining that yes, there really was a child-eating witch, but the curse had turned her into a denture-wearing vegan cat lady, known in this world as Miss Ginger. Regina had discovered then it was best to play along, so she'd poked around in the closet with a broom, yelling, "Out, out, you horrid old witch! My son and I aren't afraid of you!" In his Tron jammies, Henry had climbed out of bed and pattered over to his mom's side to join in her demands: "Get out, witch!"

Finally Regina had leaned on her broom, sighing tiredly. "I don't hear her any more. Do you?"

Henry had shaken his head grimly.

"Do you think she's gone?"

Holding her hand, Henry had peeked around her, into the dark closet. Then he reported, "She's gone."

"I don't think she'll come back, but I'll leave this broom right here in case she does." Regina had then offered a glass of water and a story (one without witches, monsters or evil queens). The closet-residing witch had never returned.

She tried that tactic now. "May I borrow your dragon for a minute?" When the boy released it, she whispered in its ear, "Brave and powerful dragon, I charge thee with protecting the princeling in all his adventures in this world. If you accept this charge, nod once."

Trajan made the dragon nod.

"Very good, Sir Dragon." She stood and held her hand out. "Shall we go inside for chocolate cake?"

She might as well have been speaking Russian; his bewilderment led her to understand he'd never tasted chocolate cake. But he chose to trust her—maybe he realized he had no choice; after all, the dragon couldn't do everything by itself. He accepted her hand and allowed her to lead him inside. Over her shoulder, she suggested to Jefferson, "Call Archie and get him over here ASAP." As an afterthought, she added, "And let Ms. Swan and Ms. French know we're back."


	18. Chapter 17

**October 2013**

**Still in her English nanny garb, Zelena clattered into the cellar. Past her shoulder, Rumplestiltskin could see through the open door; a gust of cold, night air swirled curled brown leaves in a mock cyclone. Rumplestiltskin sucked in a deep breath, relishing the fresh air.**

**Her eyes were wide as she confronted him. "I heard them talking about you. Charming and Snow. They said something–if they're telling the truth, wow, doll, you really have gone dark, haven't you? You were bad before, but this goes beyond anything you did in the old days."**

**He didn't respond, just sat in his corner and stared into the night sky through the open door.**

**"Well?" She demanded.**

**"I don't know to which of my many evil acts you're referring." He made his tone as crisp as the night.**

**"You're going to tell me this story." She conjured herself a straight-backed chair. No drink this time: she was apparently rattled. "What did you do to Henry?"**

**"Oh." His fingers, clutched together in his lap, twitched as magic rushed through his veins; he fought the compulsion by attempting to divert her. "I have much more tantalizing stories, dearie, for instance, the time a brothel madam tried to welsh out of a deal with me and I found myself in possession of nine ladies of the evening–"**

**"No." She smiled coldly. "I want to hear the story you don't want to tell. Are you avoiding it because you don't want _me_ to know, or because you can't face it? Either way, I want to know. Tell me about your attempt on Henry's life."**

**He didn't want to travel this road, not even for a few steps. The less time spent on this particular journey, the better, so he focused his answer on her question only: "Henry was riding on a rope swing in the park. I caused the rope to begin to unravel, strand by strand. But I didn't finish, because of the Charmings. They came running up asking for my help, as always."**

**"If timing was an issue, why didn't you choose a quicker method to dispose of him? A car accident, perhaps–then you could've pushed the blame onto someone else."**

**It was a surprisingly astute question for Zelena. He shrugged, but the magic forced him to answer: "I may have been having doubts. I suppose I was buying a little time to fix things, if I found I couldn't go through with it."**

**"Would you have, if the Charmings hadn't come?"**

**"I don't know."**

**Her eyes were just as wide now as they had been when this conversation began. "What–Yeah, you're a cold-blooded killer, but a child?"**

**"What's the matter, dearie? Didn't you hear those 'baby eater' tales about me?"**

**"I've seen you do some nasty things, but never to a child. That's one of your weaknesses. I always looked down on you a bit for it: softhearted when it comes to kids."**

**"Not when the child threatens my life," he muttered. A hundred needle teeth pierced his skin all the way through the bone as the magic punished him for corrupting the truth. Henry hadn't threatened him; Henry wasn't even aware of his part in any prophesy. Yet, the boy's continued existence was a threat.**

**She crossed her legs and folded her arms. "I want the full story, from the beginning. A kid! And your own grandson–other than your son, your only living blood relative!"**

**"A threat, nonetheless." He drew in a breath as he contemplated where this story actually began. "Zelena, I have a hundred stories more entertaining-"**

**Her feet slammed against the floor. "You will tell me!"**

**And the words yanked out of his throat: "The Seer I told you about-"**

**"The one who got you to break your own ankle?"**

**He nodded. "After I lost Bae, I tracked her down. I wanted to kill her for what my life had become: if she hadn't spoken in riddles, I might have gone home a war hero, to the loving arms of my proud family. She'd tricked me by withholding information; I thought she might have been in collusion with Zoso, to trap me into becoming the Dark One; or maybe she was working for the Reul Ghorm. Whoever she was working for, or whyever, I would make her pay for her deceit, but first-I was still foolish enough to think I could get a straight answer out of her, if I tortured her, and I had to know about Bae. I. . . ." He shook his head in frustration. "I knew that anything she told me would just confuse me more, but I couldn't stop myself. I strangled another prophesy from her, and as she lay dying she informed me that a curse would bring me to my son, but someone else would cast the curse-"**

**"It should've been me," Zelena waved her hand disdainfully in the direction of town. "This-this Tinker Toy town of Regina's is ridiculous. I would have given you an Alexandria, a Rome, an Athens, a city of such majesty it would stand forever in history." Her face shone as her imagination showed her the metropolises she could have created, could have gifted him, if he had chosen her. She didn't hear his response: ****"All I wanted was my son." After a long moment, she vowed, "I'll fix it. Very soon, I'll give you a city to remember, and in gratitude you'll give me your heart."**

**"No, Zelena," he said-but softly, because she could kill him with a single thrust of his dagger. **

**She exchanged her straight chair for her lounge chair and conjured herself a gin and tonic. "Go on. Finish the story."**

**"The Seer told me I would reunite with my son in an unexpected way. A young boy would lead me to him, but that boy would be more powerful than he appeared to be and he would cause my death."**

**"Ah." Zelena tossed her curls. "Well, then, of course you had to kill him. Who wouldn't? But it's not like you, Rumple, to be so sloppy. You let your emotions get in the way, didn't you?"**

**He nodded shamefully; let her think it was his failure he was ashamed of. The words rushed out: "But I tried to make things right. When Pan's minions kidnapped him, I went after them. I expected to die-I did die-to free Henry. I was wrong before, more wrong than I've ever been. When I let Bae go, that was instinct, survival instinct, I immediately regretted it and I did everything in my power to fix it. But killing Henry, that was planned, that was survival too, but I'd had hundreds of years to think about it-I didn't know it would be my grandson, but I did know it would be a young boy, and I was willing to kill him to spare myself. But then they took Henry and I went to bring him back. Doesn't that make things right? Why can't Bae believe me? Give me another chance to prove I've changed. I'd never hurt Henry again. I died for him, and for Bae and Belle. I accepted my fate, because I love them."**

**"Did you, now? I challenge you to rethink that. See, I don't think you've changed nearly as much as you think you have." She studied him as she sipped her drink. "Answer this plainly, no doubletalk. Rumple, doll, if I brought Henry here tomorrow, pushed him into your cage and turned my back for a few minutes, what would you do?"**

**Hoarsely, he answered, "I'd tell him to run."**

**She chuckled. "You're such a practiced liar, you can even convince yourself. Rumple, doll, how do you feel about yourself, that you screwed up such a simple task?"**

**He blinked, his eyes burning, no doubt from the dust in this filthy cellar. "I don't know how to answer that." **

**"What's the problem? The question was perfectly clear."**

**"I'm ashamed."**

**"Ashamed because you failed or ashamed for trying?"**

**"For gods' sake, Zelena, he's my grandson." **

**"Here's something for you to look forward to: you'll never have to choose between Henry and yourself again. Because where we're going, there will be no Henry or Belle." She examined him critically, then conjured a bucket of water and a towel. "Wash your face, doll. I do so hate to see a sorcerer cry."**

**He cupped his hands into the water. "I should be sorry for you, Zelena, for the family you never had." But he wasn't. **

**She clicked her tongue. "Still weak, even after a year with me. I suppose I should be pleased. Your concern for your loved ones is a weakness I wouldn't take away, because in the next life, that concern will be for me and our children."**

**He looked up at her in shock, hastily arranging his features to hide his revulsion. She tossed him a new nail.**

**After she'd departed, he held that nail, staring at it all through the night, so deeply ashamed, and so, so sorry.**

* * *

><p><strong><em>AN. You'll notice that Rumple's recitation of the Seer's prophesy isn't exact. That's not due to my faulty memory, or his, but rather his interpretation of the prophesy. It's too bad he's never told Belle about this prophesy: being the diction-sensitive reader she is, she could have given him alternate interpretations that could have changed his entire course. . . ._**


	19. Chapter 18

10 May 2014

"No child can resist bubbles," Archie declared as Regina came out of the bathroom, leaving the door propped open so she could look in on the kid splashing in the tub, making a rubber duck attack a battleship that actually squirted water.

"Henry certainly enjoyed bath time," Regina said. "We had an entire cupboard full of tub toys." Then he'd turned five and had started school, and everything went downhill after that: first the questions she couldn't answer, "How come last year Paige was in kindergarten and she's still in kindergarten this year? How come Mrs. Shoeman's baby didn't get borned yet when it was supposed to be here before Christmas?" Then the isolation as Henry, realizing he was different from the other kids, withdrew into television and books. And then the weekly visits to Archie, the assumptions of "delusions" and "fantasy" and the failed attempts to "help Henry adjust" with play therapy.

Regina knew that was what Archie was thinking as his smile wavered. She broke eye contact. "Well, Doctor, what about Trajan?"

"From such a short visit, I can't draw any conclusions." Hopper pushed his slipping glasses up his nose. "He doesn't seem to have had much interaction with his mother. He speaks of two of the monkeys as his primary caretakers and only sources of affection."

"That's so sad," Belle clicked her tongue.

"Monkeys are surprisingly good parents," Archie explained, "just. . . with their own species. And Trajan's behind the learning curve. Until I test him, I won't know if his IQ is low or if it's just lack of education."

"He can get caught up, can't he?" Emma asked. "Once he's settled in."

"We'll see."

"Which brings us to the big question," Belle started, but Regina interrupted, "No, there is no question. He can't stay here."

"There are some families who'd take him. The Wilkersons–they've been trying to conceive–"

"Ms. Swan, I know what you think of the system, and I understand your reasons, but Trajan can't stay in Storybrooke."

"But shouldn't he continue to live in an environment kinda like what he's used to? One with magic?" Emma protested.

"If he is magical, he needs to be with people who can help him understand his power and control it," Belle added, "and to teach him so he can reach his full potential."

"He'll be a lot better off never knowing he has power–never even knowing that magic exists except on TV. Magic is no gift, believe me; it's a burden, as all of you should know." Regina folded her arms as if to shut the world out–or herself in.

"But–"

"Ms. Swan, name me one magical being who's happy. Just one."

"Blue."

"She's happy in her cursed role, Ms. Swan. As a nun. If you'd known her when she was the Ruel Ghorm, you would know what a burden that power was."

Emma couldn't come up with an answer, so Regina continued, "Then name for me the magical beings who would be better off without that power."

"Me," Emma admitted. "Though I haven't used my magic enough to say for sure."

"Rumple," Belle said in a low voice.

Regina dropped her voice too. "And me."

"But to hide the truth from a child, about who he is, where he came from. . . ." There was a bitterness in Emma's voice. "To leave him with a void–"

"Either way, that boy will have a hole in heart that can't be filled," Belle said. "Growing up without a father or mother."

"It need not be so bleak, ladies," Archie tried to bolster their courage. "The child protective system has improved greatly since you experienced it, Emma. I have contacts at CPS in Augusta; they'll work with me to find Trajan a good temporary placement until we can find the right family for him. And there is a loving family out there for him, I promise you; I'll be involved every step of the way, and once we find the right home, I'll visit with them and Trajan on a frequent basis, to help everyone adjust."

"So you think he should go," Emma surmised.

Archie's face reflected his conflicted feelings. "I think. . .the time will come, when he's old enough to understand, that he'll need to be told the truth, all of it, including what happened to Zelena–"

"But we don't know what happened," Belle argued.

"We'll tell him as much as we know. I'll stay in contact with him so I can help with that conversation. And he may want to meet you–" he glanced at Regina–"as his only living relative."

"Oh, I don't think that would be a good idea. A kid needs to think well of his parents, and I don't have anything kind to say about Zelena."

"A kid needs the truth," Emma blurted. "Even if it's rotten."

"When the time comes, we'll have a better idea of what's needed," Archie assured them. "But for now. . . Even for the short time he's here, I think he needs to be kept away from most of the town. I hate to say it, but most people here are pretty vocal about their hatred of Zelena, and for a small boy to be exposed to that kind of talk, it would cause serious harm." Archie knew that firsthand: his own parents, traveling snake-oil salesmen and petty thieves, had left behind angry mobs everywhere they went. Once he'd grown up, in the Enchanted Forest, there was nowhere he could go to escape his family's tarnished reputation.

"And I'm not so sure I could protect him, once words gets out he's Zelena's kid," Emma admitted. "Not that anyone would intentionally hurt a little boy, but if he shows any signs of having magic. . . ." She sighed. "Okay, I guess he's better off in Augusta. I'm glad you're going to keep an eye on him, though, Archie. Let me know when you're ready to take him there; I'll drive."

"I'll call my friend at CPS." Archie dared to touch Regina's shoulder in a show of support. To her credit, the queen didn't flinch. "Good night, all."

Regina pasted a bright smile on her face and called through the bathroom door, "Okay, Trajan, time for that chocolate cake."

"You, uh, need any help?" Emma offered. "I could stay a while."

"Emma and I can start supper while you finish his bath," Belle suggested.

Regina's shoulders stiffened, but she nodded, then called out, "Trajan? I hope you washed behind your ears."


	20. Chapter 19

**October 2013**

**"Now, doll, yesterday you mentioned something about dying to save Henry." Zelena conjured her usual lounge chair and drink (a strawberry daquiri this time). "I can't wait to hear this one. Sounds delicious—unless you were exaggerating?"**

**He shook his head.**

**"Well, on with it, then, doll! Don't keep me waiting. ****When you told me Hook's story, you neglected to mention that dear old dad underwent an identity change in the years after he abandoned you, yes?" She flicked her fingers and an old copy of the _Daily Mirror_ appeared in his lap, with the headline "Henry's Heroes Make Triumphant Return."**

**"That tarty waitress at the diner is quite the chatterbox. She told me you and Papa had a _High Noon_ showdown in the middle of the street–just before you committed murder. So, tell me the story, doll, beginning with the abandonment, and leading to your death, and don't spare the details."**

**The magic squeezed the words out of him like toothpaste from a tube. "I got in his way. I was an inconvenience, never mind the many times I'd saved him from arrest or a beating. 'A child can't have a child, Rumple.' So when I was eight, he got rid of me."**

**"How?"**

**"I'd acquired a magic bean. Stupidly, I gave it to him so that we could go somewhere else and start over. I was taking a risk; he could have sold that bean for money to drink and gamble, but I wanted to–I needed to–trust him. And at first, it seemed he wasn't going to let me down this time." Rumplestiltskin closed his eyes, consumed by the memory. "'We'll go to a place where we can have everything we want, just by wishing. Where life is easy and so much fun, Rumple. A place of magic.' And it was. Neverland was, is, just as he described, a child's toy box, with never-ending adventures and wish-magic, and most importantly to me, a place my papa and I could be safe and stay together. But what I didn't know was that it's also a place of irresponsibility and selfishness, and what Papa soon learned was that it's a place only for children. He made a deal with the island: he would be restored to his youth, he would be made immortal, he would rule Neverland, but the price that the island required–the price he was happy to pay–was me. I was sent back to the Enchanted Forest."**

**Zelena clicked her tongue as she made notes in her steno pad. "And grew up an orphan. ****"Worse," he barked. "Grew up knowing my father didn't love me."**

**"When did you see him again?"**

**"I was the most powerful mage in the world, the most feared; no one dared harm me or mine. I thought we were safe, my son and I; I thought Bae would be happy. And why not? I could give him anything. He would be respected, admired, I thought, and protected. No one dared tease him. But at the same time my magic provided for him, it isolated him."**

**She nodded thoughtfully. "Yes. It does. It makes you different. Loneliness is the price you pay for magic every day of your life. It must have been especially horrible being the son of the Dark One, watching you murder and maim with just the flick of your little finger."**

**He nodded in shame. "Bae grew to detest the monster I'd become. He had such a noble soul; he didn't fear me; instead, he feared for me, the evil that was eating away at me, slowly killing the gentle, loving man I'd been. He feared he was losing me, and he was right. When you have magic, you can do almost anything–"**

**"And so you do." Her eyes widened as she sampled the power flowing through her. "All the silly rules that humans follow don't pertain to you." She smiled at him as though sharing a secret with him. "We make up our own rules."**

**"No, dearie," he cautioned her. "What was the first thing I ever taught you? Have you forgotten it already?"**

**"Three laws of magic," she recited. "One: all magic comes with a price; if your customer doesn't pay it, you must. Two: there is a power that supersedes even the strongest magic, and that's the power of the Fates. Three: There are lines not even magic can cross. Magic can't bring back the dead or make someone love or rewrite the past. Oh, but Rumple, you're wrong about that, as I shall soon prove."**

**"How, Zelena? What do you intend to do?" He growled, but she wouldn't reply except with a smirk. "Answer me, Zelena. You foolish girl! If you intend to attempt to violate the very nature of magic by raising the dead or–" he interrupted himself as he wondered briefly whether she would attempt to make him fall in love with her. **

**She made her voice sweet. "No, darling, I haven't been slipping love potions into your porridge. I won't need to, after I've accomplished my goal."**

**He mulled it over. "A baby. . . a True Love baby. . . Charming's broken sword. . . ."**

**"Containing elements of his courage," she elucidated.**

**"True Love, courage. . . ."**

**"You're halfway there. But no, you'll just have to wait for the 'big reveal,' as they say on television. Now, we weren't talking about me; we were talking about you and your dear papa. Where you left off, you'd acquired the power and it was frightening your son. What does that have to do with Daddy Malcolm?" She conjured a drink for him. He tasted it, and when he realized it was a Long Island Tea, he took only the smallest of sips, just enough to avoid offending her by refusing her gift. What the combination of booze and his addled brain would do, he didn't want to find out. **

**"Boys started disappearing from our village. At night they would be sent to bed; in the morning, their beds were found empty." His mouth twitched as he remembered. **

**"Bae disappeared."**

**He flashed a quick hard glare at her, resenting her use of his son's nickname. But she held all the cards, for now, so he continued his story. "I found them, about thirty boys, dressed in animal skins and prancing around a roaring campfire, under the spell of his pipes. Free of rules, they thought they were, free of their unloving parents, but he controlled them, the one they called the Piper. Ah, but when I snatched away his hood, the Piper wasn't a boy at all, but rather-"**

**"Malcolm, in his transformed body." Was that sympathy in her gaze?**

**"He called himself Peter Pan."**

**"And he'd come to steal away your son. But why? He'd already got shed of you; why cause you any more misery?"**

**"He was looking for one particular boy, a boy whose heart could regenerate the magic that was being drained away from Neverland. Stopping time so that boys will never grow up requires a great deal of power, you see, but the legends claimed that refueling was possible if the heart of the Truest Believer was sacrificed."**

**"Was that. . ." she chose her words delicately. "Was Bae the Truest Believer?"**

**"No." **

**She released a sigh of relief, as if she almost cared about her captive's emotional well being. "And so Malcolm let him go?"**

**Rumplestiltskin nodded. "Pan returned to Neverland with a group of boys in tow, to form his own little kingdom. Bae returned home with me."**

**"Flash forward to last year. Is that the next time you saw Malcolm?"**

**"Yes. He'd found his Truest Believer: my grandson Henry. Pan's minions kidnapped Henry and we, his family, went after them, to Neverland. We defeated Pan and rescued Henry, and that's the end of the story."**

**But she knew it wasn't; she'd heard bits and pieces from conversations in Granny's Diner. Her mouth stretched flat and her eyes narrowed. "Don't lie to me, Rumple."**

**Magic gripped him by the throat and squeezed. He fought giving her the satisfaction of hearing the remainder of Pan's story, because its ending was his ending, and he wasn't ready to come to terms with the circumstances of his own horrifying, albeit temporary, demise. **

**"Finish the story, Rumple."**

**"We went to Neverland. Pan had rigged it with psychological traps intended to demolish each of us separately; he almost succeeded, but we managed to rescue each other. To save Henry, I would have to kill Pan, and in the process, I would die, but I willing to pay that price. I tried to avoid it, but the Fates would not be denied; our attempts to trap Pan failed."**

**Her green skin glowed with magic as she grew excited. "Tell me how you killed him."**

**He stared at the concrete floor. "I took him in my arms, this teenage boy with the soul of a very old man; I raised my dagger and he transformed himself back to the man I remembered. He begged me, he bargained with me, promised me the love and attention I–" his voice broke. "I've walked this earth nearly three hundred years, but in that moment, I was seven again, and my papa had come for me at last. I needed him, even then, but he'd tricked me too many times. I kissed his cheek; a part of me, the foolish part, still loved him, but I'd finally accepted the truth. He would have killed all of us if I had let go. I held him closer and I raised my dagger and as he begged me for his life, I plunged it into his back and into my own chest."**

**"What did it feel like, killing your father?"**

**"The dagger shuddered as it pierced his skin; his muscle slowed down its progress; I had to push it through bone. I felt in my own body everything my dagger was doing to his."**

**"No, I meant, how did it feel emotionally?"**

**"How do you think it felt?" he snapped. "That was my father!"**

**"Don't duck the question, Rumple."**

**"It felt great!" he roared. "He was finally getting what he deserved! And my son and my grandson and my beloved would live."**

**"And you would be remembered as a hero."**

**"But I wasn't."**

**"No." Satisfied, she leaned back in her chair. "You weren't, except to Belle, Henry and Bae. For everyone else, one act of sacrifice and bravery couldn't erase centuries of villainy. For everyone else," her words came in a hiss, "you got what you deserved and they were glad to be rid of you."**

**"It doesn't matter." **

**"Yes, it does. Tell the truth, Rumple. You needed their approval, because you never had your parents'."**

**"I didn't die for them."**

**"No, but admit it: it bothers you that they didn't mourn you. Even now, when they talk about you, there's no respect for your sacrifice, there's no concern for your welfare, only worry about what I might make you do. Your son is missing: Emma is making a half-hearted effort to find him, but she's preoccupied. No one else even speaks of Bae."**

**"I don't believe that."**

**"It's the truth. For most of them, he's just some loser from New York who knocked up the savior and dumped her long ago. They don't even know his real name. Henry? Henry doesn't remember him at all. And your precious Belle? Who comforted her in her grief, when you died? Now that she knows you're my slave, who's comforting her in her worry? Go on, guess."**

**"Ruby," he grasped a name. "Ruby is her friend."**

**"Nope. Guess again."**

**"Emma. Emma would care, for Bae's sake."**

**"Nope. Guess again."**

**The truth was finally wrenched from him. "No one! No one cares about her! No one's checking to make sure she's not sick with worry."**

**"Bingo!" Zelena laughed. "She spends her days shut away from them in your shop. She's studying your books in hopes of finding a way to free you. A fruitless task–and for the rest of Storybrooke, a thankless one. They don't want you back. Oh, they don't want you under my thumb, of course; they're shaking in their boots over the power I now control. But they avoid the Dark One's Lady because she reminds them of you, and that's scary. She's alone. She's wasting away, and no one so much as brings her a cup of tea to soothe her nerves."**

**His lips started to quiver. He bent his head, covering his face with his hair; she mustn't see his face. **

**"You killed your papa. You killed yourself. And what the hell good did it do?"**

**"They're alive."**

**"Alive!" she snorted. "That–thing–you're carrying around inside you, is that alive? The minute he leaves your body, magic will take him. You hear his voice, don't you? Listen to it, and then tell me, is this what he wants, this half-life, driving his father crazy? Or is he asking you to let him go?"**

**"Henry–he's all right; he's safe–"**

**"Another half-life. Regina filled his mind with false memories. He doesn't remember Bae or you. To him, Belle's just a weird woman hiding out in a store. And Belle, she's afraid to sleep; her dreams are all nightmares. Her hours are consumed with a useless search for a solution that doesn't exist. Is that the life you envisioned for her, when you saved her from Pan?"**

**"She'll recover. She's strong." But he wasn't: tears were dampening his cheeks.**

**"So I'm asking you again: how does it feel, to have killed your father?"**

**"I killed my father. I loved him and I killed him," he admitted. "I'm in hell." He crawled as far away from her as he could, turned his face to the stone wall and let the tears come where she couldn't see them.**

**But she wouldn't let him go, wouldn't let him have the space to mourn. She pressed on, "Finish the story, Rumple. Your death! How does an immortal die?"**

**"He doesn't." Rumplestiltskin gritted his teeth. "I felt the full power of the magic of every Dark One that's preceded me rush through Pan's body and into mine. I felt my limbs go numb. My blood stopped circulating. My heart stopped beating. My breath leaked out of my lungs like a punctured balloon. And then my vision and my hearing leaked away, and everything went black. My last thought was the hope that my life and my pain were over. But it was a vain hope: gradually my heart started beating again, my lungs started drawing in air, putrid air, the stench of rotted flesh. Feeling came back to my hands and my legs, but I couldn't move. I stood there, frozen, as pain shot up my ankle. I should have fallen; my ankle couldn't support my weight, but magic kept me standing, locked in place. I couldn't see: there was no light. But I could hear, and I wished I couldn't: I heard the most piteous moans, pain beyond the pain of the body, everlasting, unrelenting pain of the soul. I heard my name repeated, over and over, incessantly, in the voices of every man, woman and child I'd ever made a deal with. Pleading with me, reviling me, taunting and teasing and pulling on me, but I couldn't move, even to open my mouth to answer them. I felt hands, the hands of every man and woman I'd ever killed, clawing at my skin, ripping it from my bones. Incessantly, forever, picking my bones clean, and the flesh would grow back and the ripping would continue. I felt their tongues on my neck, my throat, in my ear. Laughter, but the laughter of derision, not humor. The wound in my chest from where my dagger had pierced me wept tar-thick blood.**

**"This was my ending, the ending intended for all villains. It's your ending too, Zelena."**

**She chuckled. "You're reading the wrong book, doll."**

**"Then suddenly the voices stopped, all but one. I heard Baelfire call my name. The other beings around me fell away; I was lifted, I passed through a barrier of dark lava that burned my raw flesh but healed my wounds, and then there was light. Pale, but light, to be sure, and fresh, cold air for my lungs, and her face, sweet and anxious and hopeful, and my son, dying, paying the price for resurrecting me."**

**She allowed him at last to fall silent. She plucked a strawberry from her drink, dangled it over her open mouth, prodded it with her tongue before biting its tip. When she'd consumed the entire strawberry, she licked her fingers and sighed in satisfaction. "There now, that was quite a thriller. Sort of Stephen King meets the Bible, huh? And for once, someone suffers because of you but not by your choice. How did that feel, once you realized what Bae had done, and what it would cost him?"**

**He bared his teeth. "I wanted to die—but only after I'd killed you first."**

**She lay a hand on her chest and blinked innocently. "Me? I was just a simple bystander."**

**"You knew," he hissed, "what the price would be. You could have told him. You could have stopped him."**

**She shrugged. "Maybe I've got a touch of Dark One in me. Who knows, maybe Zoso was an ancestor of mine." Then she set her feet on the ground and sashayed over to his cage. "He'll still alive, though, your son, I mean. Sort of. But suppose I tell you I can fix everything? I can bring him back to you as a newborn babe, and you can start over, do it properly this time. Your son, my son, me and you, in the life we deserve."**

**His lips trembled. "Go away, Zelena." **

**Surprisingly, she softened her tone. "Just think it over, darling. What kind of future does he have now, living inside your head? You'll have to release him eventually, and then he'll die. The one consistent theme in all your stories is the abiding love you feel for him. So save him, give him the life he should have had, give yourself an opportunity to be the father you were meant to be." She popped inside his cage, raised his chin and kissed his cheeks and his mouth, punctuating each kiss with a suggestion. "Just. . . say. . .yes."**

**The magic didn't awaken; this was not a command. For a reason he couldn't grasp, she was giving him free will in this one decision. He pushed her away. "Go away, Zelena."**

**"You'll change your mind." She patted the top of his head. A nail appeared in his hand. **

**"You already gave me one for Malcolm. Or is this for Pan?"**

**"This is for you. For your pointless death."**


	21. Chapter 20

10 May 2014

"They seemed to hit it off," Regina said, closing the door to the guest bedroom.

"They could help each other in ways we adults never could, to find their places in this world." Robin took her elbow and escorted her down the winding staircase. Or, more likely, it was she escorting him; from the quick glances he kept casting at her mansion, he was clearly out of sorts here. She'd lived here so long, so comfortably, and the curse had given her all the information she needed to manipulate this world's technology; she had to remind herself that the world he'd come from lacked the gadgetry and the noise of this one. Fortunately, Robin had no macho pretense to keep up: his native skills gave him the assurance he could survive and protect his family anywhere he went, so he didn't hesitate to ask when he needed teaching.

It was one of the many qualities Regina admired (though she'd never use the word _admired_ aloud, not yet; their relationship was too new) about him. His self-assurance gave her room to be the confident, strong-willed woman she'd always been. Without that shared strength between them, they would never have clicked as a couple: she would have crushed him on the first date. Regina smiled a little when she remembered all their times they'd clashed, each giving just as good as he/she got, and then, after one or the other had won (she'd kept count: the score was even) or (rarely) they'd compromised, their arguments had ended in increased respect (and intense passion). She'd never had that kind of relationship before, not even with Daniel, who'd always been conscious of her rank. She liked it, a lot.

And now in the quiet house their boys—no, she couldn't think that way: _the _boys, Trajan and Roland—slept in twin beds she'd conjured in the guest room, Trajan with his patchwork dragon and Roland with his stuffed monkey. Downstairs, a simple meal of tomato soup and gruyere toast, cooked by Emma and Belle, had been laid out on the dining room table, and those two ladies, professing the need to return to their own awaiting gents, had bade their goodbyes. For one night, life would be perfect. No doubt, there would be trouble tomorrow; there always was. But for three or four hours, she could pretend this was their forever.

Robin drew out a chair at the dining table—not at the head of the table, for that would imbalance them, but at the side, and he would sit directly across from her. "Darling," he said, indicating that he meant the chair for her. She smiled her gratitude, pleased that Robin called her "darling," not "Your Majesty" or "my queen" or "Madame Mayor," as she was used to. _Darling_ belonged to him and him alone.

She seated herself instinctively gracefully (how to move regally had been among the first lessons Cora had taught her). As he seated himself, she unfolded her napkin, spread it across her lap, then sipped from her glass of Sauvignon Blanc. Although the foods and their manner of preparation were unfamiliar to him, Robin's innate manners (he'd been raised a nobleman, after all) made him a charming dinner companion, and they fell into easy conversation as they ate.

It was only after they'd carried the dishes into the kitchen (and she'd taught him about dishwashers) that he hinted again at the possibility of blending families. "I meant what I said earlier, Regina. Not to put pressure on you, but if you did decide to keep Trajan, the boys would be good together." He clasped her waist. "As we are."

"We can't forget who his mother was," she reminded him. "Because the people of Storybrooke sure won't. It's a temping notion, Robin, but it would cruel to keep him here. He needs a fresh start, someplace where they've never heard of Zelena." She set her hands on his. "And we need to remember, _we're_ still new. There are things we need to learn about each other. Things about my past that you need to hear—"

"I know who you are now. That's what matters." His eyelids lowered and his voice grew husky. She could feel a kiss coming.

"To us, yes. But just like Trajan, we live in a community, and we need to get along in it. People talk—"

"Let them." His hands drew her in.

"Oh, Robin, you tempt me," she sighed, sliding her arms around his neck. "You really do."

* * *

><p>"Hello, sweetheart." Rumplestiltskin turned away from the stove as Belle came into the kitchen through the back door. He held a wooden spoon, his free hand cupped beneath it to catch overflow. "Dinner is ready."<p>

She set her hand on his wrist and leaned in to taste the sample in the spoon. "Mmm, sweet pea soup." She peeked in the microwave. "And Majorero cream." She peeked on the stove. "And Roncal crisps." She knew how much work went into preparing this meal (and how much clean-up would be required). "What's the occasion?"

"I just felt like cooking." He'd been doing that a lot lately: time-consuming, sometimes elaborate gourmet meals that were far more than the two of them could finish. Since he'd come back, since he'd been freed, he'd spent a lot of time on time-eating tasks, just as he had used to spend so many hours spinning. Since he'd come back, he hadn't touched his spinning wheel. _She'd asked Archie about that; Archie had said, "It makes sense, considering he had nothing else to do but spin while he was in that cage."_

_"But it's not like him," she had objected._

_"Give him time," Archie had advised. "He spent more than a year not being himself."_

She fetched two glasses and filled them with Cabernet Sauvignon. Though the fruits of this land were quite different from those of Avonlea, Belle had an instinct for pairing wines with entrees; as a noblewoman, she'd been taught the fine points of planning state dinners. It was one of the skills she'd brought to the Dark Castle, one of the reasons, the imp had told her, he'd chosen her, rather than an experienced housekeeper or cook: she brought a touch of elegance to the castle and to his life. Rumplestiltskin could have been a king, an emperor, but he had no stomach for politics, no respect for titles, and no patience for leadership; he did, however, have an innate taste for elegance. Between the money he provided and the knowledge of fine living that she provided, they'd lived quite well in their Dark Castle (though neither of them used that term, they both thought of the castle as _theirs_, not his), and after she was freed from the "asylum," he'd striven to bring back that elegance to their life together.

As he dished up the soup, she tossed a salad. Preoccupied as they were, she decided it was a safe time to bring up the touchy subject. "Rumple, when Regina was cleaning out Zelena's things, she discovered something surprising."

"The identity of Zelena's father?" he guessed.

"No, she knew that already. While you were in prison, she summoned Cora's spirit—"

His brows drew down. "She didn't learn that from me. Very dangerous, that sort of magic, not to be dabbled in. I steered clear of it, myself."

"She was desperate to learn why Cora abandoned Zelena. She thought if she could find that out—"

He snorted. "What? She could help her? Zelena was beyond help. She chose her own path. She had a choice that few of us get, an offer to join Glinda, and she chose to go dark instead. Some of us," he set the soup pan in the sink a bit too forcefully and it clattered, "had no choice."

Belle touched his shoulder soothingly. "I know. But magic is different here; you have a choice here, don't you?"

He pulled away from her to plate the crisps. "I take it Regina succeeded in speaking to Cora."

"Cora told her Zelena's father was a gardener—and a bounder, who pretended to be a prince so that he could get Cora into bed. As soon as he'd taken her virtue—"

Rumple snorted again. "_Cora_ and _virtue_: two mutually exclusive words. If she slept with a man she thought was a prince, I can assure you, no innocence was lost."

"Well," Belle admitted, "it wasn't a love match. She did expect the act would elevate her into royalty."

"She found her way there regardless," he said drily. "You needn't feel sorry for her."

"I don't. But Rumple, she's your past. She can't hurt you again, if you'll let go of her memory." She encircled his waist with her arms and laid her head on his chest. "Don't give her the power to haunt you. Or any of the people who hurt you: they're gone now, and we're here. It's just you and me. We can be happy, if you chase the ghosts away."

He set aside his spatula to hold her close. "Your optimism never flags. Sweetheart, you're so good." He kissed the top of her head. "So good for me. But—"

"Don't you dare say it. No 'buts.' You and me together, happy. And Henry—we need to reach out to him. He needs us and we need him. Bind our family together, Rumple. Give Henry and me the same dedication you gave Bae. That's where your choice is. Choose the future, not the past. Choose us."

She felt him nod, she felt him breathe deep–a cleansing breath, she thought. After her plea that he leave the past behind, she couldn't tell him that once more, Zelena could haunt them now. There was no real reason to, anyway: Trajan would be taken to Augusta soon. Rumple need never know Zelena's son had come here—or for that matter, even existed.

She changed the subject, chattering about Robin and Regina (but not Hook and Emma). They deserved one night, at least, of peace and happiness. For one night, life would be perfect. No doubt, there would be trouble tomorrow; there always was. But for three or four hours, she could pretend this was their forever.


	22. Chapter 21

**November 2013**

**"You know," she said casually, "when I first met you, I used to daydream that you were my father. Isn't that funny?" Zelena laughed humorlessly. "I still don't know who my father was, but the more I learn about you—the whipped pup you are beneath the wolf's clothing—the happier I am that you're no kin of mine."**

**Even from the corner of his cage, he could smell the alcohol on her breath. She unlocked the iron door, leaving it wide open, but the dagger was tucked securely into her belt and the magic forced him to kneel as she entered the cage. She stroked his spinning wheel, then stroked his cheek with the same sensuous touch. "I'm in the mood for a little romance tonight, doll. But first—" She wrinkled her nose. "Good gods, you need a bath." **

**With a flick of her unsteady fingers, he found himself naked, standing in a claw-footed bathtub filled with hot water and lavender-scented bubble bath. The water burned his feet, but when she ordered him to sit down, he did, his skin reddening angrily. She tossed a loofa at him. "Here, wash up."**

**As he obeyed, she fetched a fluffy white towel from a cupboard, and sitting on the closed toilet lid, she laid the towel across her lap. "Isn't this nice? Almost like an old married couple, me sitting here chatting while you take a bath." She peered over the edge of the tub. "Hmm. I can see why the tavern wenches didn't take their time with you."**

**He dunked his head under the water. When he reemerged, water dripped into his eyes from his shaggy hair. "Still," she murmured, then setting the towel aside, she crossed behind him and leaning over, pushed him forward. "Here, I'll do that." She poured some of her floral shampoo into her palm, rubbed her hands together and began to lather his hair. He shivered involuntarily; the scratch of her fingers against his scalp felt good, and he hated himself for it.**

**She pushed his face down into the water, rinsed his hair, then jerked him up again, pressing him against her chest. She reclaimed the loofa, soaped it and began to scrub his chest. "Now." Her voice rumbled against his back. "I know it wasn't the wenches or your wife, so tell me, who taught you how to make love?"**

**He swallowed hard. "You—surely you don't want—"**

**"I want!" She slapped his cheek with the loofa, splashing water into his eyes. **

**"It was your mother."**

**"Liar!" With a shriek she seized him by the hair and yanked him backwards, submerging him into the water. He held his breath for as long as he could, his hands clawing at her wrists, but even without magic, she was at this point physically stronger, and as his lungs gave way and the air seeped out between his lips, the voices in his head grew frantic. The loudest of them all, the Dark One's, reminded him that drowning was how the people of this world executed witches, not sorcerers; he would turn the tables upon her at the first opportunity. He could not die, Rumplestiltskin reminded himself as he slipped into unconsciousness.**

**He awoke to a sharp slap that brought blood to his nose. "You—and my mother?!" the witch was shrieking, shaking him by the hair. "You made love to me, knowing who I was?! You sick—"**

**"I never touched you," he said, gasping for air. "Any such imaginings you have along those lines, they're a fantasy." He had to get mean to himself as well as to her, to turn this conversation to anger and away from hurt. Anger was the one gift he could give her: it would push her away from her dependence on him without wounding her fragile ego—if she would accept the gift of anger. "Sociopaths, not psychotics, are more my type. You're too unstable to tempt me, dearie." He knew the moment the words left his mouth he was in for a round of torture worse than she'd previously subjected him to.**

**With a wave of her hand, she sent him, naked and dripping wet, back to his cage, shackled and hanging from the ceiling, his feet dangling. The muscles in his shoulders tore as they strained to support his weight. She paced before him, her heels clacking on the concrete, magic sparking from her fingertips. "Not your type, am I? Not pretty enough? You puny, wrinkled old man—who do you think you are?" She made her clothes vanish and stood before him, displaying her curvy, firm body. "You could have had me, all of me, my body, my magic, my heart. But I wasn't good enough for you. I wasn't pretty enough, was I? Young enough. Stupid enough." She re-conjured her dress and resumed her pacing. "Not _petite_ enough. Not dark-haired. Not gray-eyed or bee-stung-lipped." She wheeled about. "Regina! You sick bastard, did you take Regina to bed too?"**

**"I never touched Regina."**

**"Well, at least that's one thing." She studied him, his hair hanging in his face, his body hanging limply from the chains. "I have news for you, Rum: you're never touching any woman ever again." She slapped him, then clattered up the stairs, her magic slamming the cellar door and plunging him into darkness.**

**He wondered how she would carry out that threat.**


	23. Chapter 22

11 May 2014

She had breakfast waiting for him: a pancake with a strawberry nose, chocolate chip eyes and a whipped cream smile. The boy had never seen anything like it before, that was obvious as she boosted his chair up to the dining table. He stared at the clown pancake, then stared up at her, uncertain how to proceed. "Go ahead," she chuckled. "You can eat it."

He picked up his fork but continued to watch her as she walked around to her seat at the head of the table. She sat down, spread her napkin across her lap—he imitated her. She poured a little syrup on her cake–he imitated her. With her knife and fork she cut a slice of her pancake—he imitated her. When she started to chew, he suddenly grinned and tucked in to his breakfast as though he hadn't eaten in days. Regina flushed with pride: the domestic arts were ones she never studied, but this boy seemed to think she was a gourmet cook. He finished his pancake before she'd taken her third bite. He saved the strawberry for last, sniffing it before he poked the whole thing into his mouth. "Did you like that?"

He nodded.

"Are you still hungry? Would you like some fruit?" When he nodded, she held out her hand. "Give me your plate." She dished up a sliced, fresh peach; this, at least, was familiar to him and he knew how to eat it. Cooked foods had not been a part of his life, before. Nor had manners. She demonstrated by example how and when to use the napkin, then when their meal was over, she said, "In this land, it's customary for people to say 'thank you' to the ones who prepare the food."

"Thank you," he said soberly.

"And it's customary to assist in cleaning up." They carried their dishes to the dishwasher. He was fascinated with the sounds the dishwasher made, so she allowed him to listen for a while, and she introduced him to a few other kitchen gadgets. "Is it magic?" He wanted to know about the light inside the refrigerator.

"It's a form of power that anyone in this land can use, not just mages. There's a lot like that here. You'll get used to it. Ordinary people have a lot of power here." She allowed him to play with the garbage disposal so that he could discover some of that power.

Then she sat him down in the living room, making sure he had his patchwork dragon. "Trajan, I have some news for you. Some of it is bad news, but I want you to know, you're safe here, and soon you'll have a family who will love you. You'll have a wonderful life here, I promise. There will be a lot of changes coming, and some of them will be uncomfortable, maybe a little scary, but I want you to promise me something, okay? Promise me you'll remember what I just said: you're going to have a wonderful life here, with a loving family and a home of your own, and friends, and maybe even a brother or sister. Will you try hard to remember that?"

He clutched his dragon tighter in preparation for the bad news, but in a small voice he promised to remember.

"Very well. Trajan, your mother—" she paused. Maybe she should wait. Maybe Hopper should be here; maybe Hopper should be the one to break the news.

"My mother is a witch," the boy volunteered. "Like you. But she's—" he touched his own cheek—"green."

"Trajan, did you spend a lot of time with your mother?"

He seemed confused by the question.

"Did she play with you? Did she teach you things?"

He shook his head slowly.

"Did she teach you how to do magic?"

He shook his head again.

"Did she tuck you in at night, read you a story?"

"Robin read us a story!" he chirped. "About dragons!"

"Yes, he did. You liked that, didn't you?" From his nod, she understood that bedtime rituals were a novelty to him. "Did your mother cook food for you, eat dinner with you?"

"We had pancakes!" He bounced on the couch cushion—like a three-year-old, she thought; Henry had stopped bouncing on the furniture when he was four.

"Your mother made you pancakes?"

He pointed at her. "You did."

"Trajan. . . " she hated to ask, but she felt she had to. "Did your mother say 'I love you'?"

He stopped bouncing and stared at her.

"When you got hurt, who fixed you? When you were scared, who cuddled you?"

He answered promptly. "Magwa." Then his face screwed up. "Where's Magwa?"

"She's still at your mother's castle, a long ways away. We won't go back there. Trajan, your home is in this land now. Your mother—she died. You won't see her again."

"I want Magwa!" he wailed.

She came to sit beside him, cradling him. "I can't bring her here, but maybe this will help." She conjured a stuffed toy for him, a winged monkey. "Like Roland's."

He threw it across the living room and threw himself onto the arm of the couch to cry. She patted his back.

"I know it's hard," she said. "But you will have a good life here. I promise."

* * *

><p>She had breakfast waiting for him: yogurt with muesli, oatcakes with raspberry jam, a rasher of bacon, a link of sausage, baked beans and a tattie scone (she'd Googled "traditional Scottish breakfast"). He didn't remind her that his Scottish accent was a result of the curse; he tucked in eagerly, and she flushed with pride. Even after all these years, it still thrilled her when he received her offerings with enthusiasm, and vice versa. "I would have tried to make black pudding too, but I couldn't find the ingredients in the store."<p>

"Just as well," he said. "There's so much here, I don't think I could've found room for it all." He was still gaunt and prone to digestive problems. Whale had had to place him on a diet to gradually reintroduce heavier meals, after a year of near-starvation. He'd graduated from the diet, but he still had to eat slowly. "Thank you, sweetheart."

She allowed him to enjoy his meal (she made a show of enjoying hers, though she was nervous). When they'd finished, they carried the dishes to the dishwasher, and she dared then to bring up the topic she should have raised last night. "Rumple, sit down, please. I need to tell you something; you're not going to like it, but I hope you won't let it upset you."

His mouth turned down, but he resumed his seat.

She drew in a deep breath. "Rumple, promise me something. Promise me you'll remember—we're the future." She clutched his hand from across the table. "You and me and Henry, we can be happy together, if we chose to be, and not hang on to the past."

"Belle. . . ."

"I'm not asking you to do or not do something. I'm just asking you to remember we have each other, if you'll let it be."

"All right. I can promise that much."

"Rumple, Zelena had a son. He's five, he's here in Storybrooke."

"What?" he jerked his hand away.

"Regina and Jefferson brought him here. He's an orphan, Rumple. He's only five. He needs parents, a home; he was being looked after by her flying monkeys. That's no life—"

"Why is he here? Why didn't they—" he waved a dismissive hand. "Leave him in Oz, with the munchkins or the Ryls? Leave him where he belongs."

"Rumple, he's here now. He's only five—"

"Regina again! Meddling, with no idea of the consequences, no thought to the damage she might be doing!" He slammed his hands on the table.

"He won't be here long. Archie is working with CPS to find him a foster home in Augusta. He'll be in Storybrooke only a day or two. Maybe he'll even get adopted. He's so cute and sweet—" As Rumple pushed away from the table and turned to lean on the sink, she persisted, "I understand, believe me, I do, and I feel the same way as you do about Zelena."

"You couldn't possibly," he muttered.

"We all agreed it's best if he doesn't stay here, after all the awful things his mother did here. But I know you know," she came to stand beside him, "what it's like to be a little boy, an innocent, helpless little boy, who gets blamed for the awful things his parent did, and who has to grow up alone. He's only five, Rumple."

"Did it occur to any of you that his mother was born magical, and he may have inherited that?" He bared his teeth at her. "And that he may come back someday, intending to get even?"

"Evil isn't born; it's made. You've always said that." Undaunted by his glare, Belle pushed his hair back from his eyes. "Archie will find him a family that teaches him to be good. Someday, he might want to know about his birth mother. He might even come here. But even if he has magic, he won't be like her. He'll have grown up secure and loved. What kind of future do you think he would have had in Oz? Where do you think it's more likely he'd have grown up angry and revengeful?"

"What do you want from me, Belle? Why are you telling me this?"

She shook her head. "I don't want anything. I'm just telling you so you'll know. So there won't be any secrets between us." She stroked his back. "Because you trust me and that trust is precious to me."

"All right." He allowed his body to relax against her ministrations. "But I won't help him. He's her blood."

"I wouldn't ask you to. It wouldn't be fair to you."

He set the dial on the dishwasher. "I'm going to the shop. It's time to open."

She started to point out that no one expected him to open his shop, after all he'd been through; he had earned the right to rest, and he'd been home less than two weeks. But she realized that reopening the shop wasn't for the town's benefit; it was for his, to give him something productive to do, something normal.

He paused at the threshold to the foyer. "Will you be going to the library today, or would you like to come with me?"

She grinned at him. "Let me get my coat."


	24. Chapter 23

**November 2013**

**Either he fell asleep from total exhaustion or he passed out; he wasn't sure which, but when he became conscious again, he was still hanging from shackles. From the dampness in the air, he assumed he was still in the cellar, though it was too dark to tell. He was still nude, and cold, and at some point he'd lost control of his bladder. Without her permission, he dare not free himself from the shackles or clothe or clean himself. He was too tired to be ashamed. **

**The voices in his head fussed and fretted, the Dark One plotting tortures for Zelena, Bae urging him not to act rashly (not that he could do anything anyway), Rumple whimpering in a corner. He forced himself back into sleep to shut the voices off. **

**"****My gods, you're disgusting." Her voice splintered his peace. He opened his eyes, but he couldn't see her through the darkness. How she could see him, he had no idea. Her fingers snapped and a spray of lukewarm water falling from above drenched him, then a blast of warm air dried him, and at last a suit of clothes covered his body (cotton shirt and polyester slacks and jacket; his skin rebelled as it identified the fabrics). She chuckled, "Oh, you have to see this" and with another snap of her fingers, light filled the cellar. Obediently he glanced down at his new Hawaiian-print shirt and powder-blue jacket and trousers. **

**"****There, isn't that nice? Oh, almost forgot the shoes." Another snap of her fingers produced a pair of white loafers. "This is Thanksgiving Day, so how about expressing a little gratitude to your benefactor? Say 'Thank you, Zelena.'"**

**"****Thank you, Zelena." His voice cracked.**

**"****Oh." She looked disappointed. "Guess you need some water." She whipped her arm through the air, and in an instant he was crashing into the straw of his cage, the empty shackles clanging against rock. His tailbone cracked against the concrete and he rubbed it, unconcerned with his dignity. "Hold your hand out." She conjured a cup of a clear liquid and he gulped it, then coughed as the fluid burned his throat. She'd given him straight vodka. After a giggle fit, she changed it to water and he drank his fill. "Where are your manners, pet?"**

**"****Thank you, Zelena." Now that she had released him, his magic went about repairing his injuries. It did so automatically, and would do so as long as she didn't command otherwise; the first fundamental law of the Dark Curse was that it must survive, and for it do so, it must have a host.**

**She settled herself in her lounge chair and provided herself with a margarita. "I owe it to every woman in the land to carry out my threat, you know." Casually she ran a finger around the rim of the glass, gathering up salt before popping the finger into her mouth. "But that would defeat my larger purpose, so I'm giving you a second chance. Not because you deserve it, but because that brain of yours is a necessary ingredient in my spell. And after I cast it, well," she shrugged, "you'll have a whole new attitude to go with your whole new family. Does my generosity impress you, doll?"**

**"****I'm stunned, Zelena. Absolutely stunned."**

**She cocked her head to peer at him. "It occurred to me that, my mother apparently being a bit of a tart, she may have been partially to blame for your dalliance with her." She raised an eyebrow. "It was a dalliance, wasn't it?" **

**Magic forced him to shake his head, even though that brain of his that she admired so much pleaded with him to worm his way out of this. **

**Her tone heated. "No? It was a—a relationship? Oh, gods, don't tell me it was a ****_romance_****!"**

**"****I intended to marry her. We had. . . an agreement."**

**"****A contract?! You had a contract to marry her? Rumplestiltskin, did you _buy_ her?" **

**"Of course not. She signed willingly****. She'd shot off her mouth, trying to impress a king: she claimed she could spin straw into gold. I may have given her a small nudge with that idea: she'd heard such stories about me, and so all I had to do was plant a stray leaf of straw on her gown to trigger her memory."**

**"****My mother was impetuous."**

**"****Not usually; she was a calculating woman by nature, but she'd gotten herself into a tight spot and so she—"**

**"****Grasped at straws," Zelena finished, groaning at her own pun.**

**"****The king gave a deadline to produce the promised gold, as kings do—"**

**"****I think I've heard this story before."**

**"****You may have. Several writers adapted it, though none got it quite right."**

**"****So she was imprisoned in a tower, sentenced to hang—"**

**"****Beheading. King Xavier preferred beheading. More dramatic."**

**"****If she didn't carry out her claim. And, I take it, she summoned you?"**

**"****Of course. I'd kind of set it up that way."**

**"****Why? Was she so beautiful you couldn't resist her?"**

**"****No. I've seen more beautiful."**

**"****Charisma, then. She was too charming to resist."**

**"****No. She was the daughter of a drunk. She'd grown up too poor and too busy earning a living to practice the feminine arts."**

**"****Intelligence?"**

**"****She was intelligent, though I'd known smarter women. Her ambition exceeded her intelligence."**

**"****What was it then, that you set her up so that she'd be beholden to you?"**

**"****Regina." He gulped the last of his water. "A scrying had told me Cora would give birth to my curse caster." He knew he was in for it now.**

**She didn't disappoint: she threw her margarita at the cage, the glass shattering and the liquor splashing on the bars. "You damn fool! Didn't you realize that was me in that vision? I was the one meant to cast the curse!"**

**"****No, Zelena, you weren't. I saw her clearly: dark hair, brown eyes."**

**"****I should have been!" She waved a dismissive hand. "Never mind, I will be. In just a few months, I'll cast a curse that surpasses anything you ever dreamed of! And you'll thank me for it."**

**"****Regina is no better off for having been chosen by the Fates to cast my curse," he admitted. "The next time you visit the tarty waitress, why don't you ask her about Regina? You'll learn she has no lover, no friends, and she has to share her only child with another woman. She had clout, but no one respected her; she has money, but how many Chanel skirts can one woman wear?"**

**"****You idiot. I don't care if she's happy. I care if ****_I'm_**** happy." She conjured herself a fresh drink, her hand shaking. "In your vision, didn't you see me at all?"**

**"****No." If he had—if he'd been shown just an inkling of what she would do to him—he would have sicced a pack of werewolves on her when she first appeared on the grounds of the Dark Castle. She was growing depressed; he had no idea how that would affect her behavior. He changed the subject as swiftly as he dared. "Perhaps you'd like to learn more about your mother."**

**Still distracted, she fluttered her fingers, urging him to continue the story.**

**"****Despite her upbringing, Cora had grand plans and grand manners. She didn't walk; she floated. She spoke like an educated woman. Her hands were red and rough from work, but she moved them with such grace as to give the impression she was of royal blood. And of course that's what she most longed for. In her mind, it was a simple equation: royalty equals respect equals happiness. I knew better. I'd lived a long time already by the time I met her. I knew better, but I didn't disillusion her. One must not, you see, or you risk tampering with the events that form the future, and it was vital to me that nothing alter the path the future of the Enchanted Forest would take. I'd studied it carefully, every detail, over three hundred years: I knew which events were necessary for the outcome I needed."**

**"****To bring you to this land and your son." She sneered. "And to this cage, on your knees at my feet."**

**"****To see my son again, I would have paid any price, even this one."**

**"****There you go again, acting the fool. Did you make love to her?"**

**She'd changed the direction of the conversation so quickly he couldn't keep up. "What?"**

**"****You heard me. Cora—did you make love to her? Don't evade the question. You know exactly what I mean."**

**"****Yes."**

**"****Was she any good?"**

**"****Zelena—"**

**Her magic gripped him by the throat and squeezed. "Was she any good?"**

**"****I thought I loved her," he gasped. "But she extracted her own heart so that she couldn't feel anything for me."**

**She released him. "****_Loved_**** her? ****_You_****?!" **

**"****I saw in her a mirror of my own dark soul. I thought we understood each other, when no one else could. I looked into the future and saw her, with the child who would bring me to this world. Cora would be the means by which the prophesy would come to pass. I thought. . . I could see her by my side as I reunited my family."**

**"****You actually wanted to marry her." Zelena said lowly.**

**"****I thought the daughter I saw in my visions could be mine. "**

**"****Regina, your daughter." Her eyebrows shot up.**

**"****I wrote it into the contract. But she outsmarted me. The value of a contract is all in the semantics, you see. She chose the words, and with them built a loophole that I fell into, and then she jilted me to marry a prince."**

**"****Wait a minute: she could have become the wife of the most powerful sorcerer in the world, a man through whom she could have ruled the entire world. And she chose to walk away from the golden goose to marry a—a turkey?"**

**He had to chuckle a little. **

**Zelena threw her hands into the air. "Does stupidity run in my family?" **

**For the first time, he admitted aloud the thought he'd secretly harbored for many years: "Cora and I were better off without each other."**

**"****Really?"**

**"****We would have destroyed each other. She with her ambition needed to rule; I with my superior power would not be ruled. With the bloodlust running high in both of us, one of us would have killed the other in short order." He smiled ruefully. "I think I would have been the loser in that deal, either dead of knife in my back or wishing I were."**

**"****I never met her, you know." Zelena paused to consider. "Was she so fixated on power that she would have killed the one and only man suited to be her mate?"**

**"****In a heartbeat, dearie. In fact, she did try. Last year she came to Storybrooke with the intention of bringing her daughter to heel, then walking away as the new Dark One." **

**Zelena raised her glass to him. "The old man defeated her. Congratulations."**

**"****I didn't. Another killed her."**

**"****Regina?" **

**"****Snow White."**

**Zelena considered this. "Huh. So Snow isn't as pure as she lets on. That baby of hers could have been an interesting specimen. Too bad there won't be anything left of him after I cast my spell."**

**"****You're going to kill him?"**

**She shrugged. "What did you think I was going to do with him? It's a spell, doll, not a Mommy and Me playdate." She leaned forward. "Don't worry, dear. If I'm careful, I can get what I need from you without destroying the outer shell. And I intend to be careful, because I have other plans for that shell." She popped into his cage to drop a new nail in his lap. "For my mother, who broke your heart by yanking out her own. What an intriguing combination you and she would have been. Oh well, her stupidity is my gain." She brushed his hair aside to whisper in his ear, just before kissing it, "Doll. . .****_I_**** make love with my whole heart." As she walked away, she kissed her fingertips up at the sky. "Mama dear, wherever you are, if you can hear me: I win!"**


	25. Chapter 24

11 May 2014

Archie had dialed all but the last number to connect with his friend at the Augusta Child Protective Services office. His finger poised on the final button, he suddenly realized Penny Hall would want Trajan's backstory, and "The boy's mother, the Wicked Witch of the West, left him with a pack of flying monkeys" just wouldn't cut it. Archie canceled the call and sank back in his swivel chair to think. . .and to conjure a lie.

It had been a very long time since he'd had to lie. Under the curse he'd been living a lie, but he'd believed it. He drummed his fingers on the desktop and considered. On the one hand, Penny would think Archie had gone round the bend if he told her about Oz and Storybrooke. But on the other hand, the more honest information Ms. Hall could be given, the better; any prospective foster parents or adoptive parents should be told about Trajan's background so they'd understand him. Otherwise, what would they think when Trajan started yammering about Magwa or witches? Either they'd brand him as a disturbed child and return him to CPS, or they'd send him to therapy, as Regina had Henry. The poor child would probably be put on Ritalin and be assigned to special ed. classes.

Archie's conscience made the decision for him: there was no wrong in fabricating a story for Trajan. The trouble was coming up with something both believable in this world and in keeping with whatever secrets Trajan might spill. He poured himself a cup of coffee and patted Pongo's head as he struggled to concoct such a tale. The alarm on his wristwatch sounded, warning him that his first appointment of the day (the Blind Witch, a. k. a. Miss Ginger, who was having difficulty coming to terms with the fact that the curse had given her nine cats to live with) would arrive in ten minutes. Ten minutes to concoct a background for Trajan that the boy would have to live with for the rest of his life. Pongo nosed his inattentive palm. Archie resumed petting him and the Dalmation settled his chin on his master's knee.

Archie needed help. Someone adept at lies. . . Mr. Gold. Ah, no. Gold wasn't inclined to help anyone, least of all his torturer's son. No, it wasn't a master of lies that was needed—it was a master of stories, both fantasy and realism. A reader. Archie seized his phone and called Belle.

* * *

><p>They met at Dave's Fish and Chips for lunch. Belle had resisted the idea at first; she claimed she'd been leaving Gold alone too often recently as it was. "I don't think he should be alone," she had said.<p>

"Why? Is he acting strangely?"

"No. That's just it. He's been acting normal ever since he got back. He went right back into his routine. He goes to bed at eleven every night, gets up at seven, he even brushes his teeth at the same time every day. And now he's re-opened the shop."

"He sleeps well? Eats well?"

"He pretends to. I catch him sometimes, in the middle of the night, staring at the ceiling. I haven't said anything about it. I'm giving him time, like you said. I understand that a sense of normalcy will help him readjust. Still, I want to be there for him. He shouldn't be alone when the shock wears off."

"I understand, Belle, and I wouldn't pull you away from him if it wasn't necessary. I won't take up too much of your time. It's for Trajan."

She rushed into Dave's and tossed herself into the booth without a greeting. "I think I have something. On paper, it's kinda lame, but you have this face and this voice that make people want to believe you, so I think you'll put it off. Here it is." She slid an unsealed envelope across the tabletop: he could see newspaper clippings contained inside. "Barney & Haley Traveling Circus. It was a tiny thing, only operated four years before it went bankrupt. Barney died last year and his wife Haley remarried and moved to Europe, so finding her to verify the story would be a hassle. According to their newspaper ads, they had a female magician and a chimpanzee act. So suppose the magician and the chimp trainer were married—"

"And had a son—"

"And when the magician and the chimp trainer passed through Storybrooke last week, on their way to join up with another traveling circus, there was an accident and the parents were killed."

"Emma would have a report on the accident."

"I already talked to her. She's working on it."

"A traveling circus would explain why there's no birth certificate, no immunization records—"

"Oh, but there is a birth certificate. And a driver's license for Trajan Brown Sr. Mr. Dove will have them ready this evening." Belle's eyes twinkled; this was an adventure to her.

"Mr. Dove is a very handy man to have around," Archie mused. When he'd first become aware of Belle's relationship with Gold, he'd worried about the negative influence the pawnbroker might have upon her. She was such a sweet, innocent person, Archie thought—but after she'd rescued him from the pirate, Archie had come to know her better. Belle was innocent, yes, but resourceful and hardly naïve. Over time, Archie had come to hope that if there was influence going on, it was her acting on Gold.

"Thank you, Belle. I'll call my friend at CPS this afternoon. May I buy you lunch?"

She glanced at the clock on her phone. "If you don't mind, I'll get something to go. I want to take something back to the shop for Rumple."

"I'd be pleased to treat both of you to lunch." Archie signaled to a waiter, then lowered his voice. "When the time comes that your husband is ready to talk about Zelena and Neal, I'd like to help." A shadow passed over his face. "Since Regina's curse broke, I've had quite a lot of experience in treating shock, disorientation and grief."

"Thanks, Archie."


	26. Chapter 25

**December 2013**

**Days went by without an appearance by Zelena. At least, he assumed they were days: he could only judge the passage of time by the meals that her magic presented him. He assumed her absence meant she was busy assembling the ingredients for her spell and therefore was closer to enacting her plan. . . closer to destroying Belle, Bae and Henry. The voices in Rumplestiltskin's head were in an uproar over this (at least, the Dark One, Rumple and Bae all agreed Zelena had to be stopped), making it impossible for him to pull two thoughts together, let alone formulate an escape plan.**

**But he could still feel. He wished it were otherwise. Spinning didn't drive his emotions underground as it used to: the nails lined up neatly on the crossbar of his cage kept pulling him away from the once-hypnotic motion of the wheel, kept pulling him into the past. In the gaps between shouts of the voices in his head, he slipped backwards in memories so vivid he could no longer sense the cage or the cellar or anything else in the present moment: his eyes, his ears, his nostrils were filled with memories. Even as his hands transmuted useless straw into useless gold, his mind was locked in the past, with the ghosts of the people who had taken his innocence, his pride, his hope, his ability to trust and to love: Malcolm, Milah, Hook, Cora. And seeping up from the oily surface of those memories was a thought: what had been taken from him, he'd taken from others. The lessons he'd learned from his tormentors, he'd carried into his relationships with Bae, Regina, Zelena, Henry and Belle. The betrayed had become a betrayer.**

* * *

><p>"<strong>It's Christmas!" Wrapped snugly in her cape and tights, Zelena seemed oblivious to the blast of snow that swirled around her legs as she clattered down the stairs with a tray in her hands. "Happy Christmas, my pet! I've brought you a treat." As she approached the cage, she whipped off the napkin covering the plate, and a cloud of heat rose from the food contained therein. With a flutter of her magic, the tray vanished from her hands and appeared on the straw-covered floor of his cage. She wasn't lying, for once; she'd brought him a full meal: ham, yams, green beans, rolls and pumpkin pie. To his coffee she'd added a splash of whiskey. <strong>

**After months of half-meals, his stomach couldn't handle so much solid food. The very aroma made him choke. He tried to turn away, but her urging—from anyone else, an invitation; from the dagger-holder, a command—made him pick up the fork and attempt to eat. Moments after swallowing the first mouthful, he'd vomited.**

**Insulted, she shouted at him and with her magic, flipped the tray upside down. She stormed back up the steps, slamming the cellar door. **

**It was only then that he noticed the sprig of mistletoe she'd hung from the bars of his cage. **


	27. Chapter 26

14 May 2014

"You're out of breath," Regina muttered as Emma, with Belle in tow, bound across the ex-mayor's manicured lawn and onto the porch.

"Trouble in town?" Robin inquired.

Emma shook her head and Belle explained, "We just dashed into the shop to get a going-away gift for Trajan." She produced a brightly wrapped cylinder from behind her back. "Tinker Toys. Rumple picked it out." The harsh edge in her voice warned of a fight if Regina made any snarky comments, but the queen wasn't really listening. Her phone buzzed even as a stationwagon pulled up to the curb, and her eyes fixed on Archie as he climbed out of the vehicle. "Would you get Trajan?" she asked Robin as she pressed a button on her phone and spoke. "Yes?"

Robin walked out onto the lawn, calling Trajan and Roland to him. He took their hands and led them back to the porch as Archie approached.

"Not now, Mrs. Nolan, I'm quite—" Regina paused, and when she spoke again into the phone her tone had softened considerably. "Are you—Tuesday, you said? Five o'clock? Yes, I believe I'm free then. I'll check with Robin and call you back in a few minutes. . . .A potluck? Yes, I'd be happy to bring my lasagna. Thank you, Mrs. Nolan." She raised an eyebrow at Robin as she slipped her phone back into her jacket pocket.

"What's a potluck?" the outlaw mused.

Emma was grinning like a Cheshire cat, but said nothing until Regina turned her puzzled frown upon her. "Ms. Swan, are you behind this?"

"Nope." Emma seemed all the more pleased for her answer. "It was Mary Margaret's idea." She explained to Belle, "You'll be getting the call next. A naming ceremony for my new little bro. American style: no crowns, no gowns, just jeans and potluck. After all the trouble we've been through lately, we just want to let down our hair and party." At the flicker of doubt in Belle's expression, Emma continued, "Your husband's invited too, of course."

Belle relaxed. "We'll be there." She placed a slight emphasis on the first word.

"Good afternoon, everyone," Archie said. He was smiling uncertainly, his eyes running across the faces of the adults, then the Iron Man suitcase sitting at Regina's feet. "How are you all?" His tone made it clear the question wasn't an idle one.

"He's ready to go," Robin said, patting Trajan's back. "He's looking forward to meeting his new family, aren't you, young man?"

Trajan stared up at them and inched a little closer to Regina. Archie knelt on one knee to address him face-to-face. "Are you a little nervous, Trajan?" The boy popped his thumb into his mouth. "It's okay to be nervous. But your new family is eager to meet you. Remember, we talked to them on Skype yesterday?"

Trajan nodded. Regina handed him his patchwork dragon.

"Do you remember their names?"

The boy's face screwed up as he focused. "Jonathan, Abby, Marcia. . . Mr. Hoffman and Mrs. Hoffman."

"Yes. You and Jonathan will share a bedroom. They've already got the room ready for you." Archie showed him a photo on his cell phone. "See? A new comforter on the bed."

Trajan smiled as he pointed at the photo. "Dragons!"

"You're going to like it there." Archie engulfed him a hug. "Are you ready to go?"

Trajan picked up his suitcase. Belle knelt and presented him with the gift and a kiss. Archie slid an arm around his shoulders and directed him toward the stationwagon.

"Bye, Trajan!" Roland called out.

"Have fun in Augusta!" Emma suggested, as the others chipped in with farewells.

Trajan paused at the passenger side as Archie put the suitcase in the trunk of the car. His mouth quivered as he waved goodbye.

"Oh, for pity's sake," Regina muttered. She hurried down the lawn. "Look, I don't have any appointments this afternoon. You'll need someone to read the road map. I'll go with you, Dr. Hopper." She climbed into the backseat and waved Trajan in after her. "See you this evening, Robin. Bye, Roland."

"Bye, Regina!" her two men answered.

As the stationwagon drew away from the curb, Emma shook her head in wonder. "A year ago, she couldn't have been bothered." She glanced down at Roland. "They have a way of changing you."

"That they do," Robin agreed, hugging his son.

"Henry sure changed me," Emma admitted, then glanced meaningfully at Belle.

Belle raised her hands defensively. "Whoa. Rumple and I have only been married two weeks."

"Yeah, but you've been together, like, forever."

Belle dropped her voice. "It may be a long time before he's ready to be a father again."

Emma sighed. "Yeah. I get that." She turned to the Hoods. "You guys hungry? Let's go raid Regina's fridge."


	28. Chapter 27

**December 2013**

**"You have to save them."**

**Rumplestiltskin sat bolt upright, his hand automatically reaching out in the darkness for the visitor he was certain had come. He strained to see through the blackness, but his abnormally sharp eyesight failed him. "Bae? Bae, where are you, son?"**

**"You have to save them. If Zelena succeeds in her plans, Emma and Henry will cease to exist. Don't let it happen, Papa, I'm begging you. Whatever it takes, you have to stop her. If you still love me, do this for me. This is the magic I want from you. Not for you to make me fourteen again, or give me a castle. I want you to save my son."**

**"I do, I love you, Bae. I'll do anything you ask."**

**"I can't protect them any more. My fate is sealed. You have to do it for me. Stop Zelena."**

**"Make her pay. Your son is dead already because of her. Take her down, Rumple. The town will honor you for it. Henry and Bae will thank you for it." This was the voice of the Dark One, raspy and commandeering.**

**"She controls me."**

**"Who are you?" the Dark One bellowed. "Are you the coward who crouched at the feet of Hordor? The fool who allowed his wife to belittle you to your face, to flaunt her infidelity around the village, to leave your son alone, cold and hungry, while she cavorted with drunkards? Are you the whiny pup that I tricked so easily?"**

**He rose to his feet, a fireball forming in his hand. "I'm the Dark One, you son of a bitch, the most powerful and feared man in the world, I know more about magic than any who's ever lived, and I will not be belittled or tricked or made a fool again, and I will destroy all who threaten my family!"**

**The Dark One laughed. "Then act like it."**

**The voices suddenly stilled and he dropped onto his stool to think. He sat for hours, in his now clear head sorting through every book and every experiment he'd ever encountered to find a loophole in the laws of magic.**

**Suddenly he knew, and he kicked over the spinning wheel, which he'd relied upon to save his sanity, and he threw back his head and invited the pollution and confusion back into his brain, for he realized his salvation lay in madness.**

* * *

><p><strong>January 2014<strong>

**She yanked on a lock of his hair as she snapped her fingers in his face. "Rumplestiltskin! Rumplestiltskin! Look at me!"**

**The magic forced him to raise his eyes to hers, but her form kept blurring and fading into the myriad other images dancing before him. Over the voices yammering in his head, he couldn't hear her; only his magic could, and whenever it recognized a command, it took control of his body and made him obey, though his mind wasn't aware of what his body was doing. _Cowardspinnerhusbandsoldierkillerdeserterdarkone_****_grandpatorturer_****_mastersorcerer_****_papapapa_**

**"Rumplestiltskin! Wake up!"**

**The sharp slap to his face drove the voices to a corner of his brain. He jerked his head back, blinked, rubbed his aching jaw. **

**She took a step back and crossed her arms. "You're babbling. Do you hear me? You're babbling." She sighed. "I guess there'll be no story today. You're getting worse, Rumple. You just sit there in that corner, babbling and drooling, hour after hour. You don't even spin any more. You're just no fun." Despite her insults, she sounded genuinely concerned. She pointed at the ground, but he couldn't concentrate long enough to understand until she barked, "Eat your breakfast!" **

**She'd provided a spoon, but he just stared at it, unfamiliar with its purpose. He curled his fingers and scooped up a bit of cornmeal mush, ignoring its burn on his skin, ignoring the lumps sliding down his wrist. He thrust his fingers into his mouth and swallowed the mush without chewing.**

**"Use your manners!" she snapped. "You used to be such an elegant man. Gods, what's happened to you?" Zelena removed herself from the cage. With her back to him, she muttered, "You're getting harder and harder to control."**

**He sucked on his fingers and blinked.**

* * *

><p><strong>30 March 2014<strong>

**The voices were shouting today, filling his ears so that he couldn't hear when Zelena opened his cage and dropped his breakfast tray on his stool. She shook his shoulder; he could feel her fingernails dig into his shoulder, he could smell her shampoo (copied from Belle), he could see her mouth twist and her brows furrow but he couldn't hear a word she said over the voices, the voices, the voices demanding he rise up and kill her and step over her bleeding body and walk out of this cage and into the arms of his family. He shook his head frantically to try to clear it, to no avail. After some time of shaking him and, finally, kicking him, Zelena yelled something and left him. **

**Sloppy, she'd become, as the voices had taken over more and more of his mind. Perhaps she saw he was incapable of doing more than simply cowering in the corner, arms wrapped about his knees, rocking back and forth in a useless effort to soothe himself. He couldn't find space enough between the shouts to think long enough to feed himself or sleep or wash. He lost all conception of the outside world, including that of his own body. **

**"OPEN!" "OPEN!" "OPEN!" All three of the voices shrieked at once. The unity of thought enabled him to lift his head and look across the cage—the gate was unlocked—across the cellar—a beam of light was leaking in through a crack in the cellar door. She'd given up on him, apparently, assumed he was permanently lost to the madness. She'd left him to die slowly, to starve to death. Hadn't even bothered to lock up after her last visit. **

**"RUN!" **

**The magic wasn't holding him down any more. She truly had quit him, then. He felt alone and frightened, abandoned, but he also felt a rush of adrenaline that shot power to his knees, his legs, his hands, and he skittered across the straw to the cage gate, and grasped the bars and he hauled himself up by sheer will, because his body, too weakened from hunger and exhaustion, had nothing left to give. **

**"RUN!"**

**He managed to gather enough magic to pop the cellar door open.**

**"RUN!"**

**He ran.**

**Blindly. Falling, picking himself up again, running. Fresh air, cold, smacked him in the face, awakening him. He gained strength, gained dexterity, clarity. He ran in the direction of the sun, though he had no idea of the time of day, and therefore no idea whether he was headed east or west, or which direction town lay in. Ran. With each footfall the red fog in his brain lifted a little more. He spotted a faint path and followed it. As his head continued to clear, he realized the danger in clarity: if her voice could sift through the madness, he would hear it, and the magic would take command of him, force him to return to her, assuming she realized he was gone. He sneered then and provoked the voices, talking aloud at them: "Rumplestiltskin, you damn coward! Running is what you've always done! Why not stay and fight the witch? Dark One, since when do you allow the spinner to boss you around? You're the strong one. You're the one with the ideas. Prove it. Take control of this mind and this body, and plan a way for me to destroy the witch. You who are more powerful, more scheming, than ten of her kind, than twenty! Stand up and fight, Dark One! Baelfire, will you allow the rage and the fear to prevent this body from returning to your son and to your love? You have the strength of persistence, of moral courage. Fight the coward and fight the evil and drive these feet home!" And the beings with which he shared his brain stirred themselves, rose again, started shouting against each other and against him, and the red fog thickened, rendering him safe from Zelena's reach once more. **

**He ran.**

**But the pain, the pain was unbearable, intolerable. He fell again, dropped to his knees, surrendered to it; he had no choice. **

**". . . all right?"**

**Mittened hands touched him. A blonde angel in a parka hovered over him. Savior. He couldn't remember her name, but his body jerked, reacting to her presence, and Baelfire cried out to her, cried out for her. Rumple pressed his hand to his forehead; the physical pressure eased the pain just enough that he could catch snippets of what she was saying. "Can't quiet the voices," Rumple sobbed. **

**Behind the savior, a man in leather appeared. The Dark One sneered at him, mocking: Charming!**

**The blonde angel spoke slowly, soothingly. ". . . the witch. . . where she is. . . ."**

**"Yeah," he panted, fighting past the voices to collect words. "She's—" But the red fog blinded him and lightning crashed in his brain. "There's no room, no room! There's too many voices, too many voices!" **

**One of Zelena's minions dropped from the sky, attacking the savior and her companion. The flying monkey meant the witch couldn't be far behind. **

**"GOLD!"**

**"RUN!" the spinner and the Dark One shouted, while Baelfire moaned, "Emma!"**


	29. Chapter 28

14 May 2014

Emma leaned back in her roller chair and dropped the packet of photographs she'd been examining. This afternoon, she'd filed the report of her investigation at the farmhouse–just routine procedure, because none of her reports, nor Graham's, had ever made their way to the State, and with her mother being the mayor now, written reports weren't necessary. She wrote them for her own sake, really; following procedure gave her a false sense of security, as if there was a safety net beneath her.

She thought about refilling her coffee mug, but it was after nine o'clock and she really ought to try to get to sleep at a decent hour. Still, she couldn't help staring at those photos: the dank cellar, the kennel Gold had been locked up in for nearly a year, barely tall enough for such a short man to stand up in, the straw that had served as bed and blanket. The dog bowl the witch had served water to him in. She remembered the howls of agony that had issued from him when she and David had found him galloping through the woods, the stench of his rumpled Armani suit, the clumps in his matted hair. Far, far from the elegant Mr. Gold she'd come to know and–respect, if not love. The floating madness in his eyes.

It wasn't what he had done to Zelena that Emma was trying to figure out. However he'd managed to make it appear a suicide, it didn't matter; he'd killed the witch, all right. But what Emma was trying to figure out, as she studied these photos and tried to imagine herself trapped in that kennel for a year, was how could he have gone from that howling madman in the woods to, just a few hours after his release, his old, elegant, unflappable self?

She glared at the photo of the red dog dish labeled "RUMPLE." He couldn't have recovered so completely, so quickly. No one could.

She remembered how convincing an imitation Cora had done when she had taken on Regina's image. Was that what Gold was doing, walking around wearing a facade–a, what did the mages call it? A glamour? She wouldn't put it past him. And she understood perfectly why he'd pull such a stunt. She herself had lived under a facade, ever since Neal had betrayed her, and she'd been only a runaway, a jailbird from juvie hall. How much worse would it have been for the most powerful man in the world to have been brought to this, confined to a cage, eating out of dog dishes? A man whose motto was "perception is everything," who wouldn't be caught on the street with his pocket square crooked. A man who had a grandson and a girlfriend to protect, to shelter from the nasty details of his confinement. A man who'd been insane for a year.

That man was going to crack, all right. The pressure building up inside him had to find its release sometime. The only questions were when and who would get hurt.

* * *

><p>It was after ten o'clock when Archie returned Regina to her home. They'd spent the day and much of the evening at the Hoffmans', going over paperwork with the CPS agent, Ms. Hall, then remaining behind after Ms. Hall left to take supper with the happy family and to see Trajan off to bed in the bunk bed he would now share with his sort-of brother Jonathan. Dragon tucked under his arm, Trajan seemed tired after his long day, but fairly content in his new home. He allowed Mrs. Hoffman to kiss him goodnight after Regina tucked him in. Just before he closed his eyes, Regina gifted him with a cell phone. "You may call me sometimes, if you like, though I suppose you'll be quite busy, with three children to play with."<p>

"Thank you." Trajan set the phone on his nightstand, then yawned and slid down into his new sheets. He fell promptly asleep.

"Well." Regina rose from the edge of the bed and followed the Hoffmans and Archie from the bedroom. "I suppose that's that."

"He's adjusting already," said Archie. "You needn't worry, Regina."

"Of course not." Regina raised her chin.

"Feel free to call him whenever you like, or write, or Skype," Mr. Hoffman offered.

"I think we'll play it by ear," Regina answered. "Let him contact me, if he wants. If not, I'll know he's already blended in here. It's best if he forgets his short time in Storybrooke." She raised an eyebrow at Archie. "Isn't it?"

"I suppose so. He's going to be a busy boy, starting school, making new friends. Shall we go, Regina?"

As she crossed her dark lawn and entered her quiet house, Regina half-hoped that Robin and Roland had changed their minds about returning to the Merry Men's camp tonight, but a short goodnight note informed her they hadn't. Just as well, probably. She was tired. She'd pour a glass of wine, soak in a bubble bath, then go to bed. She'd see her men tomorrow.

But, wine glass in hand, she caught herself standing in the open doorway of the guest room. The twin beds in which Roland and Trajan had slept were unmade. It wouldn't take long to tidy up, but she chose not to. For tonight, she'd leave things just as they were.

* * *

><p>The sheets were impeding her—from what, Belle didn't know, but they were holding her down, preventing escape. She kicked them away in frustration, and then the chill night air shook her awake. She sat up, shoving her hair from her face as her eyes adjusted to the absence of light.<p>

She'd been dreaming. She could recall every detail vividly: dressed in her gold ball gown, she was kneeling in a thin bed of straw, scrambling about, searching for something. Her dream self couldn't remember what it was she'd lost, but she knew it was something vital, something that was hers alone, something no one must ever be allowed to take from her, something that she feared and abhorred but couldn't survive without. She sensed the presence of others. When she looked up, perhaps to ask for their help in recovering her precious object, she saw first that she was locked inside a cage, and that the cage was shrinking. But on the other side of the cage were three women: they would rescue her, wouldn't they? Or if they could find the precious thing for her, she could use it to free herself, she was certain. "Help me," she tried to beg, but the words became birds as soon as they left her mouth, and they flew away, through the bars of the cage.

The others stared down at her from their great height: a raven-haired, middle-aged woman in a black pantsuit; a red-haired woman with shocking green skin; and a petite, auburn-haired lady with sky-blue eyes. They began yelling at her, a cacophony of demands that made her ears bleed. She couldn't make sense of what they were shouting, let alone guess what they expected from her, but she dragged herself to her feet, brushed off her gown and stared them down. "No one," she declared, "decides my fate but me."

The three women laughed at her. "Oh, really, dearie?" they said in a single voice.

And she looked down at her hands, which should be holding her precious object but were empty. . . and the skin of the back of her hands, gray-green and dusted with gold. . . and the nails of her long, artist's fingers, grown razor sharp and black.

She knew now where her missing precious had got to. "Give it back," she whispered.

But the women just laughed, and the blue-eyed one flicked her wrist and the precious appeared in her grip. She turned its face toward Belle so she could see the name etched deep into the blade, and she giggled, "No one decides your fate but me."

And into the surface of the blade was branded her name: _Rumplestiltskin_.

"Not me," her dream self insisted. "I will never command you, Rumple." And her waking self unwound from the sheets carefully, unwilling to disturb her mate. She soon realized she needn't have bothered: his side of the bed was empty. She pattered across the bare floor to the bedroom that would have been Bae's; the windows there looked out over the garden. Rumple was there, of course, sitting on the trellised bench, just staring blankly, just a darker shadow in a waning mooned night, but she knew it was he.

Lately, night after night, it always was.


	30. Chapter 29

**30 March 2014**

**He was swimming. It was night, moonless, and he was swimming in an ocean and nowhere was there land, nowhere. **

**He stopped swimming. It was just a waste of energy, pointless when there was nowhere to go to. He floated. Waited. No land, no time, nothing but ocean. Or was that his imagination? Did the ocean exist at all?**

**Was this death? He tried to remember—he'd died before. He couldn't conjure a memory of his first death. There was the blade piercing his skin, his muscle, his bone; there was blinding pain, then blinding light, then no pain, no sensation at all, no touch, no sound, no sight. For eons, perhaps—he couldn't remember; when there was only darkness, there was no way to tell time. Or maybe time died too, a sensation only for the living, or only for those living in the light. For hours, for eons, nothing. Then light rose, and he could see the angel kneeling in the snow and his son dying in her lap. He remembered her name; he spoke it. He felt the cold. He knew his son's name; he spoke it. He heard the wind, heard his son groan. He smelled burnt flesh, death in the air. **

**He died before, he's sure of it. This time was not like that. Now, he felt—something. Air currents and water brushing against his skin. **

**There was a howl of pain—not his voice. Then it**_** was**_** his voice, raw, primitive and new. His body vibrating, then nothing, no sensations at all, then vibrating again. Pain everywhere. Then light, but still pain. Blackness, then light again, and still pain. **

**And then an angel. Not her from before—his heart cracked open and love and anguish spilled out. Not her, not Belle. The angel was holding his hands. He jerked away. He mustn't let her touch him, mustn't let the savior save him, because that meant someone else must take his place in death.**

**So what, a voice in his brain asked dully. Better them than you. Life is out there; take it. He allowed the light to leak under his eyelids, allowed the breath to leak into his lungs. Light and life, he seized them; he had a right to them. **

**Then every memory of every thing, every event, every person, every dream, every thought and hope and fear flooded back into his brain and he wasn't floating any more. He ****was here, fully here, in life.**

**The pain was gone, but a new pain filled him. Worse that the first, this pain was three hundred years in the birthing. Now he knew, and he couldn't live with the knowledge.**

"**What have you done?"**

**A cyclone of time swept them, the Dark One, the savior, and the son, up. Too fast: just a few seconds to perceive, to realize, to understand, to react, to plan, not enough. Or maybe it didn't matter that time was too short: this was the Law of Magic exacting its price, and the only price that is sufficient to buy Life back from Death is another life.**

**"Please, let go."**

**Oh _gods._**

* * *

><p>"<strong>Hmph." <strong>

**Zelena stood over the body of his son, stared down, wrinkled her nose. "So long, Baelfire." She stepped over the body, the heel of her muddy boot nearly connecting with Baelfire's nose. Rumple would have killed her for that if he could have. And oh, he'd kill her again for so much more. **

"**Now that your head is clear, you'll finally be of use to me."**

**They exchanged threats. Pointless, but threats were all the Dark One had now. ** **She ordered him back to the cage but his hand snaked out, grasped her wrist. "Please." He choked on the rest of his plea.**

**She raised her chin and smiled, flattered. "Really? 'Please'? Oh, but if you're going to ask me to bring him back to life—that will have to wait, doll. I need a few ingredients yet."**

**"What did you say?" he couldn't wrap his grief-soaked mind around her remark. "You—it's a resurrection spell you've been working on all this time?"**

**"Not exactly. But let's show some respect for the deceased, shall we? We'll talk magic later. Now is the time for mourning."**

**"Please. Let me bury him."**

**She stroked his cheek in mock sympathy—or maybe a little actual pity. "Because, despite your worst efforts, I love you, I'll honor your request. And later, I'll allow you to bury your girlfriend." She looked over her shoulder at his son. "How very convenient, how very considerate of you, Baelfire, to provide us a body just when we're ready for one. " She returned to Rumple. "Some gifts for you, doll." Her magic produced a spade, a casket and a jewelry box. With a flip of her hand she opened the casket.**

**She tossed him the spade. "Best get to work. Night is falling. You may use a little magic for this work, to speed things up."**

**"No." He rested the spade against a tree and slid his arms under his son's shoulders. He couldn't lift the body. As much as it shamed him, he had to drag Baelfire to the coffin, then pull him in. Panting, he folded Bae's hands across his chest, smoothed down the boy's hair. When he regained his breath, Rumple took up the spade and began digging.**

**With a sigh of annoyance, Zelena conjured her lounge chair, a hot toddy and a _Vogue _and amused herself as he dug.**

**It was after dark when he finished, sweating, filthy, muscles aching. She had to conjure a pair of Tiffany lamps so she could read her magazine as he worked. When he had created a space deep enough, he hauled himself from the hole and leaned against the tree to rest, shaking from exhaustion.**

**"Before you wrap up here." Zelena presented him with the jewelry box. He glared at her before opening it: if this was a wedding ring she was going to force him to wear in some sort of sick mock marriage—or if it was a slave collar—**

**The box contained ten nails.**

**"You're probably thinking right now, 'That Zelena! She's remarkable. She must have Second Sight, to have given me these nails in preparation for this moment.' But I'm sorry to say that while I did expect you to use these nails on _somebody's _coffin, I thought it would be Belle's. After you killed her." Zelena walked around him, her fingers trailing across his shoulders and his chest. "Voluntarily, of course, to get her out of our way." She kissed his ear. "So you could be with me."**

**He stepped away from her.**

**"Go on. Finish your work so we can go home." She reseated herself, tucking one leg daintily under the other.**

**The magic left him no choice. He conjured a hammer and pounded in the nails as she counted them off. "One: for your wife. Two: for your father. Three: for your predecessor. Four: for your sweetheart. Five: for your protégé. Six: for your wife's lover. Seven: for your grandson. Eight: for your son. Nine: for your suicide. Ten: for your soul mate. Ten: a magical number, to those who amuse themselves with superstition. But you and I never needed such bunk, did we? We had the real thing."**

**When the last nail had sunk into the wood, he fell back on his knees. She made his hammer vanish, lest he get ideas of using it against her, then she rose and stood behind him, petting his hair. "I don't like to see you like this, Rumple," she said softly. "You're much more attractive when you're upright and snarling. Here, I can get you on your feet again." Her magic yanked him to his feet. "Well, go on, finish it. Then back to the cage."**

**She didn't have to watch to see if he'd obey. She took herself away in a cloud of magic.**

**He could cry then. Again, he was free to cry. He permitted his pain to pour forth as he studied the coffin. He couldn't finish. He couldn't lift the coffin, and he'd be damned if he'd push it into the grave. As much as Baelfire would have hated it, Rumple had to use magic to convey the coffin to the grave.**

**When the coffin lay securely, snugly in its resting place, he spoke an ancient prayer over the grave, commending his son's soul to whatever gods might still exist, somewhere. He'd learned this prayer as a child; death had been a common occurrence in his village, and the spinsters who had raised him had spun many a shroud. He didn't remember a lot of that old language any more, but he could recite the prayer flawlessly.**

**He then added some words of his own, words of affection and pride, sorrow and shame, and finally, vows of vengeance and protection. "Because you were mine, Zelena came after you. Because he is mine, Pan came after Henry. Because she is mine, Hook came after Belle. I swear to you, on all that is within my power, I will protect what is mine. Let no man, let no magic, let no law prevent me from it."**

**He thrust his hand into his chest. "And no weakness." He yanked out his heart and tossed it into the grave.**


	31. Chapter 30

15 May 2014

The apartment was empty for a change—for a _major_ change, Emma observed as she entered. David was out on patrol, Henry out playing baseball, Mary Margaret at Doc's getting a check-up for herself and the baby. For an hour or so, Emma could be herself, by herself.

She had a lot she should be thinking about—so she took a bubble bath instead. A beer in one hand, a Sam Spade novel in the other, she let her body sink into the hot water and let her mind float numbly.

"_A voice said, 'Thank you' so softly that only the purest articulation made the words intelligible"–_So much to decide. Would she bend to everyone's will and remain in Storybrooke, or take herself and Henry back to the—ironic—peace and quiet of New York City?—"_and a young woman came through the doorway. She advanced slowly, with tentative steps_"—Henry had brought home the paperwork yesterday to register for middle school here, and he'd made appointments with the mysterious Mr. Dove to inspect some apartments and duplexes (all of them owned by Gold) available for rent. At the same time it annoyed her that he would force the issue, she was proud of Henry for acting so decisive where she couldn't be, so mature where she wasn't—"_looking at Spade with cobalt-blue eyes that were both shy and probing_."—Sounds like Belle. Which reminded Emma of Gold. She really ought to check in on them. After all she'd been through, Belle deserved a little kindness, and the people she spent most of her time with, Gold and Dove, weren't exactly kindly.

And Gold—a volcano rumbling. She ought to talk with him, encourage him to get therapy—ack. No. She couldn't say _therapy_; that would shut down the conversation immediately. Say something bland, like _have a chat_. However she phrased it, she had to be persuasive, and she had to do it soon.–

"_She was tall and pliantly slender, without angularity anywhere_."—Zelena. Yeah. David had been wanting to talk about what happened to Zelena. He'd pretty much come to the same conclusion as Emma had, and he wanted to investigate. He wanted to catch a killer. He wanted to jail Gold, though he'd readily admit that was impossible, unless they took the dagger away from Belle. David wanted to talk about crime and punishment, but Mary Margaret only wanted to crawl into a cacoon with her family, and Emma—Emma had a healthy fear of vigilantes, but in this case, she was glad to be rid of Zelena.

_"Her body was erect and high-breasted, her legs long_"—hmph. Hook would get off on this book. She'd have to share it with him. There were a lot of things she'd have to share with him. Hook presented just one more set of decisions that clamored to be made. Once again, Emma's heart and head were at war, and she was allowing public duty to prevent her from dealing with personal problems.

So much to decide, so much to do, when really, all she wanted was to float here in this tub with Sam Spade. Why not? Hadn't her family earned the right to a little R & R? How about letting someone else step up to the plate for a change and fight the town's battles, cater to the world's woes? Even a hero required a day off now and then. Sam Spade would understand that.

* * *

><p>Regina was enjoying a spa day.<p>

It had been so long—too long, she had to admit as she inspected her split ends. After she finished here, she'd call her hairdresser for a cut and her manicurist for a mani-pedi. But for now, a whirlpool bath filled with lavender scent awaited, to be followed by—oh heavens—a two-hour massage. She lowered herself into the bubbling water and positioned herself directly in front of a jet spray. The bursts of water bombarding her back pulsed the tension out of her muscles.

She'd have to borrow the spa's phone so she could call her hairdresser. She'd left her phone at home. It was the only way she'd get any peace. Not that the townfolk were exactly beating down her door to deal with their problems—that was the Charmings' job. Sometimes villainy had its perks. But with the phone came decisions, and Regina needed a day to avoid making decisions. Things were going so well with Robin, but the bliss was just temporary, she had to keep telling herself that. Another of the features of being a villain: your defeat was guaranteed.

Unless she and Henry managed to find the Author and force—no, wrong word. She needed to remove that word from her vocabulary. _Persuade_, _urge, compel,_ even _beg_, then, but somehow, get the Author to rewrite the rules so that villains could—if not win, at least, come out all right in the end. Or if that would disrupt the order of the universe, well, surely the Author could be made to see that _one _villain had changed and deserved to be rewritten as a hero.

So much happiness—yes, Regina could allow herself to use that word—had come to her ever since she'd chosen to be good—and yes, she could see that now: goodness was a choice. Her heart may be dark as coal but she could still act as if she were good. Every day, she could choose to do the good thing. And how easy it was to decide what the good thing was: she need only ask herself what Henry (either Henry: her father or her son) would choose. So much love had come to her: the innocent love of Roland, the proud love of Henry, the understanding love of Robin, her soul mate, who perfectly understood her struggle. So many wonderful rewards for being good—how could she ever consider doing evil again, when it had failed her, time and time again, failed to satisfy her or relieve her pain?

Although, there was something addictive about the adrenaline rush that came when throwing a fireball at that two-faced hypocrite Snow White or that smugly self-righteous Charming—

No. Just no. Regina closed her eyes and sank back in the bath. She breathed in deep, letting the lavender fill her lungs. She was a hero now. Roland looked up to her, would someday soon start asking her guidance. Henry admired her, placed her right alongside Emma and Snow now. And Robin—well, he was a man of ideas, and he had lots of ways that they could indulge their naughty side together.

Trajan, though. She caught herself thinking about him, especially when she chatted with Roland. Trajan hadn't called, hadn't needed to, Archie reported; he was getting along with the Hoffmans just fine. Well, good. He would grow up happy, safe, normal, out of reach of his mother's shadow. Free from magic. She'd done the right thing, the good thing, for him by giving him up.

Regina grunted softly. Give him up. As if he had ever been hers. No. Just no. She'd done the right thing; now he could live his life and she, hers, and if the Author had a speck of human sympathy, never the twain would meet again. Regina was quite sure about that: Trajan must never learn his heritage.

While he was training her, Rumplestiltskin had often said (what a nag he could be, with his lessons in the morals of magic) that evil wasn't born; it was made. But Regina didn't quite hold with that philosophy. She believed evil was in the blood, like a virus waiting to be unleashed, and with Cora for a grandmother and Zelena for a mother, Trajan was a carrier. Best if he was quarantined in a land without magic, so that evil in him remained dormant.

* * *

><p>Rumple had thrown himself back into his work, his suits, his schedules, his ledgers, his things. Well, normalcy was good, wasn't it? He could relax into the routine. And he seemed so—well, <em>normal<em> wasn't a word one used with Rumplestiltskin, but he walked and talked just as he had before Pan knocked down their house of cards. He ate regular meals (though without appetite), he chatted with her about their favorite topics, he listened to classical music on the radio as he repaired objects in his workroom, he watched _Best of the Boston Symphony _every Thursday night and read the newspaper every morning.

Normal, except for the insomnia. Normal, except for—

Belle didn't want to go there. It was a truth she didn't want to face, because it came too close to her dearest hopes. Do the brave thing, she used to say, and bravery will follow. She'd done her best to always do the brave thing. Didn't she deserve a break from hero duties, just this once?

She clicked on the library's computer. She needed to run a report on the overdue books, start writing some gentle reminders. But her mind wouldn't settle into the work. Her eyes kept wandering to the ring on her left hand.

All right, damn it. Yes. As normal as he pretended to act, there was something off about Rumple. A distractedness in his manner, a halting in his speech, flashes of terror that would suddenly arise in his eyes during the most routine, the _safest_ times. And the abnormal state of his mind had been proven when, just seconds after their reunion—less than an hour after his release from Zelena's control—he had proposed to her.

There. Now it was out in the open. Belle started breathing again. A problem recognized was a problem that could be solved, yes? Deep down, she'd known, even as "yes, I'll marry you" had gushed from her lips, it was WRONG. Not wrong for them to marry—no, never that. Their love was forever, their devotion and dedication to each other unquestionable. It was right for them to marry, but, damn it, _it was too soon_. The man had killed his father, killed himself, been sent to Dark One Hell, been resurrected, been forced to surrender his dagger in order to save his son, been caged, taunted, threatened, starved, forced to attack his town and his girlfriend, forced to watch his son die, and who knows what else? Belle certainly didn't. She didn't know everything he'd been through because he wouldn't tell her.

She began to sob as she imagined the agony Zelena must have put him through and, worse yet, the hurt he still must be carrying inside. The hurt he wouldn't share with her or anyone else, because confession wasn't in his nature (because, she now knew, he'd never had anyone to unburden himself to, no one to comfort him, to accept him, to love him, damaged as he was. Until Belle had entered his life—well into his _third century_ of life—he'd been truly abandoned.)

It had been too soon for them to marry. He should've unburdened himself first; he needed to heal. And that wouldn't happen as long as he continued to pretend everything was normal. His proposal—she was sure it had come from a place of love, but she was equally sure _he'd asked for the wrong reasons_. To avoid being alone with his nightmares? To bring her under his protection, so no one could attack her again? To cheat Fate, as he'd spent so much of life trying to do? To steal a happy ending?

Marriage was right for them, but marriage right now was not. As happy as she was—as blindly happy—in her new marriage, she had to face the truth heroically. She touched her wedding ring. It was too soon, but it was too late.

She had to save them. Rumple was drowning in a black ocean, and he clung to her as his life support. They would both go down if her strength failed—_when_ her strength failed. For as much as she loved him, she couldn't save him if he wouldn't fight for his life.

She needed help. Oh, he would hate her for this! He would yell and stomp and slam doors and throw china, but she had to force this to a head. She fished her cell phone and a small white business card from her tote bag. Oh, he'd feel so betrayed by her, by her exposing his pain to a near-stranger, but. . . . "Hello, Archie? It's Belle. Would you please call me back when you get this message? I need to make an appointment with you. It's—I'm worried about Rumple."

* * *

><p><strong>AN. Emma is reading _The Maltese Falcon_ by Dashiell Hammett. **

**In the previous chapter, I tinkered with canon more than I had planned to–it was my original intension to stick pretty close to canon because I want to deal with the way Rumple has been behaving in season 4; I wanted to justify the ways of Rumple to fans (to paraphrase Alexander Pope). But when I asked myself what Zelena should have Rumple do with those nails–she had said earlier she wanted him to use them to bury his own humanity, so it occurred to me that the coffin in which Rumple would lay to rest his humanity would have been Bae's. (It also irked me that Rumple didn't get to attend his son's funeral).**

**And Rumple throwing his heart into the grave–I'm forecasting we'll find out that in the second half of the season that he did extract his heart, as Cora and Regina both did. It seems to be a villain's fallback solution when he/she can't bear the burdens of the heart. It also would explain why Rumple is now so down-and-dirty mean. **


	32. Chapter 31

**31 May 2014**

**He sat on his small stool, the only piece of furniture in his cage. His knees and back ached from the cramped position the stool put him in, but he'd long ago learned to ignore the discomfort; between his hunger and the wounds, emotional and physical, Zelena had inflicted upon him, he'd drowned out lesser pains.**

**Tonight, he felt such pain as he'd never experienced in his entire life. Tonight, he was a childless father. In shock, he rocked back and forth, a pitiable imitation of the way he used to rock the baby Bae to sleep. He couldn't manage tears; those would come later, when the realization set in.**

**When Zelena came down the creaky stairs with a bowl of something flavorless and nutritionless, he stopped rocking but he couldn't meet her stare, couldn't respond to her sarcastic quips. Frustrated at his lack of response, she sniffed, "What are you pouting about? He wasn't even magical. Besides, from what I heard, he didn't want anything to do with you. He was only interested in his kid."**

**Still Rumplestiltskin wouldn't rise to her bait, so she continued, "He chose to die. Just remember that. He preferred to be a dead hero instead of your living son." She grasped the cage bars and leaned in to sneer. "He did it for them, not you. Just like all those self-styled heroes, he didn't give a damn about you. That so-called savior: she wouldn't even exist if you hadn't played matchmaker for her parents, but has she lifted one of her magical fingers to save you? Snow White with her pure heart has time to rescue injured birds, but has she time to rescue you? Prince Charming in all his bravery would ride a hundred miles to aid a dwarf, but would he drive that rust bucket of his three miles to aid you? And your beloved Beauty who promised you forever, where is she now? Is she mourning you? She's playing shopkeeper in your store, living in your mansion, sleeping–who knows with?–in your bed, spending your money. Has she shed a tear for you? It's been a year, Rumple: you're as dead to them as your son. Do you know how many rescue attempts they've made in the past year? Zero. Not even your grandson, the last of your flesh and blood, spares a thought for you."**

**She paused to allow her words to cut through his thick hide, then she tossed out a lifeline: "I'm your family now, Rumple. I'm your protector, your caretaker, your beloved. Just as soon as you realize that, just as soon as you own it, I'll unlock this cage and bring you into the house to live with me in comfort, in love. And together, with our incredible powers joined, we'll take quick revenge on this town, and then we'll rewrite history."**

**His throat dry, he managed one word: "No."**

**She slammed his supper bowl against the bars of the cage, cracking the bowl and sending lumps of oatmeal flying. "Starve, then! You'll come crawling to me soon enough."**

* * *

><p><strong>2 April 2014<strong>

**Tucked next to the bowl of cold rice on his supper tray was a newspaper clipping: "NEAL CASSIDY FUNERAL TOMORROW. Body found buried in woods. Hero sacrificed life for town."**

**The green witch chuckled low in her throat as he picked up the clipping. "Clearly, heroism must be a learned behavior, because he certainly didn't inherit his courage from you." **

**His fingers trembled—he couldn't stop it; he was exhausted and malnourished and cold to the bone. He touched the photograph accompanying the article: Neal (he forced himself to think "Neal," out of respect for his son's choice; a man has the right to choose his own name), grinning cavalierly. That was how the community would remember him, and that was how Rumplestiltskin should remember him too, as Neal would have wanted. But that wasn't how Rumple dreamed of him. In his dreams, Neal was always Baelfire, seven or ten or twelve years old, swinging a broken tree branch like an epee, or riding the bellwether's back, or trotting along beside his papa, going off to market to sell thread. **

"**Would you like to go?" Zelena asked casually, as if inviting him to tea. "To his funeral, I mean. I hear the entire town is shutting down for the day so everyone can attend."**

**Rumplestiltskin couldn't prevent hope from rising in his eyes, so he fixed his gaze to the newspaper.**

"**Make a deal with me then. I'll give you a new suit, a haircut and a bath; I'll even throw in a bouquet of lilies you can lay at the headstone. Your end of the bargain is simple: agree to help me cast my spell. No tricks, no lies, no complaints."**

**He didn't reply. **

"**With me, you can have everything! A history rewritten to your specifications, just like mine. Your son, alive and by your side. Your power. Your wealth." She softened her voice to a plea. "My love, completely yours, forever. Don't you get it? I'm going to reverse time so I change my life, and I'm taking you with me. I can fix everything that the Fates screwed up for both of us."**

**Slowly, he answered. "I won't dishonor his sacrifice." **

**She slammed her hand against the bars of the cage. "Stupid, stubborn little man! Why did I ever think you were worth my time?" She started to vanish in a cloud of magic, then thought to add, "You can just stay there, wallowing in your self-pity and your filth. You don't deserve to be with the good people standing at your son's grave." Then she disappeared.**

"**You're right, Zelena," he said. "I don't deserve to be with my son." Bae had died a hero, but Rumplestiltskin was, and always would be, a villain. **

**A villain, not a slave. It was time he started acting like one.**

* * *

><p><strong>3 April 2014<strong>

**She came late the next morning, dressed in black, her hair pinned up. Had she been to the funeral then? The heroes would have tried to chase her away, but there were many ways a skilled mage could get around such feeble human resistance. She brandished his dagger to remind him that everything about him, even his tears, belonged to her. If he cried, it was because she allowed him to. Crouched in the straw, he turned his back to her so she couldn't see those tears.**

**Her voice was soft, as if she pitied him, but her words were typically sarcastic and probing: "You spent so long figuring out how to get to this land." Soon (if her spell worked as she claimed) she would transport herself through time, something many mages had attempted but none had ever succeeded in doing. Her observation not only dug its claws into his grief, but also reminded him she would soon prove her skills far outstripped his. "Groomed Regina to cast your curse and spent twenty-eight years waiting for it to be broken." Her tone suggested that she thought his grand curse with all its intricate webbing amateurish. "All so you could be with your son, and now he's gone. Tell me, Rumple, was he really worth all that trouble?"**

**With the dagger in her possession, he couldn't lie to her. "Every bit of it. He was family, something you know nothing about."**

* * *

><p><strong>She returned at mid-day. "They held a wake for him, at the cafe. Bizarre custom, don't you think? People drinking liquor and stuffing their faces while the tears roll down their cheeks. I attended in your place. Oh, they didn't invite me, but I made myself welcome. Do you think, if you'd been. . . unencumbered. . .they would have invited you to your son's wake? I suspect not, since the only time they ever give you a thought is when they need some information or some magic."<strong>

**He remained silent, still hunched on the floor. He hadn't budged since the morning.**

**"Would you like to know who _was_ there? My dear sister and your darling protege. Her married lover. Your–well, I guess we can't say 'daughter-in-law,' can we? What _is _the term for a man's son's baby mama? So hard to keep up these days. Your grandson's other grandparents were there; Snow is about to pop any minute now. Your sweetheart, drinking alone and looking every bit the grieving stepmama. Too bad you didn't marry her before you ran out on her. She certainly looks the part of a widow in waiting. There were dwarfs and assorted fairies, including your archenemy. Several teenagers. I think they must've been Lost Boys you dragged back from Neverland, because they seemed to know Bae." She scraped the dagger along the cage's bars, and magic sputtered off from the contact; the magic enveloped his body, sending an electrical jolt through him.**

**"Here's the best part. Sis and I had a chat. Turns out she had no idea of my existence. Mama never bothered to tell her. Out of sight, out of mind. I'm sure Mama never bothered to tell Regina's daddy about me, either, or about her dalliance with my papa. One of the oldest tricks in the book: convince the groom that his bride is a virgin by smearing a little pig's blood on the sheets. Did Milah pull that trick on you, doll? **

**"Once I set Regina straight, of course she had to threaten me. You would have appreciated the scene; very dramatic. Very Zane Grey. 'This town isn't big enough for the two of us. Meet me on the street at sundown for a showdown.' So clean up, Rumple. We're going to a block party tonight. Or maybe I should say, a shoot-out. And after I drag her bleeding body by the hair down the street and deposit it at your feet, I'll permit you to bury her, for old times' sake. And because you're such a skilled grave digger."**

**"Tonight," the witch promised. He'd stopped thinking of her by name; she didn't deserve the courtesy of a name. She slid him a tray of lunch slop. "They know who I am." She sniffed in derision. "But they know nothing about me." She shook her head at him. "And neither do you. I thought you were so clever, so knowledgeable, so understanding. Boy, was I wrong. Lucky for you, you're still good looking, unkempt as you are. Wash up, doll. I want you to look your best when you bury your darling protege." **


	33. Chapter 32

16 May 2014

Alone in her mansion with, for the first time since she became a queen, nothing to do, Regina walked through her empty halls, her heels clacking forcefully as they always did, though today there was no one to hear them and tremble (or in Roland's case, hear them and come running in hopes of ice cream). Robin had remained behind in the forest today, assisting the Merry Men in rebuilding their shelters after last night's storm. Regina had offered to make the repairs magically, or better yet, move the Men into Storybrooke: Gold had plenty of vacant apartments, and she was certain she could persuade him to rent them at reasonable cost ( in other words, free) to the Merry Men.

Certain. Absolutely. Certain she could persuade Gold to do anything she asked, because in the wall safe of her office she held the perfect persuader.

Just to check–for it was a remarkable bit of good fortune that had brought the perfect persuader here–she clacked into her office and opened her safe. She lifted down the jewelry box and raised the lid for just a peek. Yes, it was still there, still glowing. Amazing how much healthy red still competed for space with the corrupted black that dominated Rumplestiltskin's heart. And amazing how big it was. She would have guessed that it had shriveled up into a cinder by now, after all the wrongs he'd done. As she studied it, turning it over very gently (for she didn't want to alert him that she possessed it) in the velvet-lined box, she wondered how he'd managed to keep his heart alive at all: had he actually felt guilt, then, when he murdered and maimed and manipulated? If he had, he'd certainly never let the doubt show. Not in all the years she'd known him had he expressed the slightest shame or uncertainty; he was the most knowledgeable person she'd ever met (though not the wisest, when it came to his enemies) and he'd projected that in his speech, his facial expressions, his walk. She'd studied him and had copied his poise, until her powers bloomed full and she gained her own confidence.

She locked the heart back into her safe. She hadn't decided yet what to do with it. She was still struggling to make good choices, and sometimes she backslid, as her possession of the heart showed. When Emma and David had brought it to her, asking her to identify it (or as Emma had put it: "What the hell is this? Is it was I think it is? Did that bitch rip out Neal's heart after he died?") Regina had pretended to examine it-but she hadn't needed to. She could sense the magic laced through and radiating from that still-beating organ, and she recognized the magic's signature immediately as her former teacher's. But some impulse made her lie to the sheriffs: "It's a fake. A copy of a heart. I suppose Zelena conjured it just to freak you out. Her sick sense of humor. Where did you find it?"

"In the woods, in the grave where we found Neal's body," David said.

"Well, she took the trouble to bury him, at least. I suppose we should thank her for that. And apparently she wanted you to find the grave, or she would've made an effort to hide it. This," Regina hefted the heart, "was her little calling card, I suppose. It's an imitation; you don't need to let it disturb you." And to prove her point, she tossed the thing nonchalantly into a waste can–and then fished it out after Emma and David left.

If she were a pure hero now, she'd surrender it to the Charmings. To give them complete control over the Dark One would be the safest thing for this town. Or maybe she'd give it to Belle, who would never ever use it for evil. Definitely, she couldn't give it back to Rumple; that would be dangerous, even moreso now, since he had his son's death and his own enslavement to avenge.

But just for a little while longer, Regina would keep the heart. The temptation was just too strong: all that power, literally at her fingertips. If she were still the Evil Queen, she'd have started playing with her new toy right away. But she was neither hero nor villain now, just stuck somewhere in the middle, so she'd locked the heart away, a little insurance against a future need.

Cora would be climbing the walls right now, if she were still alive. "All that power, Regina! Use it, you foolish girl! Or if you don't have the nerve or the imagination, give me the heart and I'll show you how to wield its power!"

Well, Mother just wouldn't have understood what it was like to straddle the fence between good and evil. Poor mother; she'd never known the pride of looking into her child's admiration. Regina knew that pride: she'd seen it in both Henry's and Roland's faces–and Robin's. She wouldn't risk losing it, not even for unlimited access to the Dark One's power. She'd do the right thing, as soon as she got around to it.

Briefly, she speculated on how the heart had been taken from Rumple's chest. The protective spell that she'd placed on Henry's heart, she had learned from her old mentor, so she was quite certain he would have cast the same spell on his own heart, if only to protect himself from Cora. When you're the most powerful mage in the world, you must take precautions to protect yourself from the enemies creeping up behind you. She wondered how difficult the decision had been for Rumple, how long he'd deliberated, before he threw his dagger down to save his son, back in the Enchanted Forest. How must he have struggled, knowing Zelena would take the dagger, and knowing what Zelena was.

And here, apparently, he'd decided he had to hide his heart away so that no one could ever take it, as Zelena had taken the dagger. Regina wondered if he and Belle would decide to destroy the dagger too, now that it was in Belle's possession. Would he give up his magic to ensure he would never be enslaved again? To ensure that Belle wouldn't meet the same fate as Neal had? It would be a most interesting thing to watch for.

Or, on second thought, had there been another reason he'd ripped out his heart? The same reason, perhaps, that Cora had ripped out hers?

Either way, Regina could almost feel sorry for him.

She locked the heart back into her safe.


	34. Chapter 33

**3 April 2014**

**The witch had left him alone with a basin of water, a bar of soap and a towel. She'd gone off to dress herself; she'd said she wanted to look her best too, for the audience that would witness her victory. **

**He removed his tattered clothes and washed. As soon as he'd dried himself, the basin and the towel disappeared. He brushed off the dust from his clothes as best he could–she'd forgotten, apparently, to conjure a new suit for him–and dressed in his rags, moving mechanically. His grief had shifted into numbness; he was grateful for that. He needed to fight to keep his head clear. Tonight, while she fought Regina, there would be chances for him to escape, or at least, to turn on her, if he could spot them fast enough and act. He would be ready. **

**He had often wondered what it felt like to be literally heartless. He'd yanked out a few hearts in his day, but it was delicate work, and the results could be unpredictable: he'd seen captives die unnecessarily when the task was performed incorrectly. For the heartless victims that survived the procedure, he'd seen the light go out of their eyes. Their bodies moved stiffly, even those who were not being commanded by the heart-holder. They were less sensitive to physical sensations, and though they could feel the primitive emotions—fear, anger, lust–to a small extent, the depth at which the feelings ran was shallow and quick to dry up. **

**Those had been his observations, anyway, when he'd performed experiments (only on deserving victims, of course; serial murderers, rapists, deposed tyrants, and men and women who had eagerly sold their souls to him in return for money or power or revenge). Now that he could experiment on himself, he knew his observations to be accurate. He felt, but the feelings soon passed, even the grief. He suspected that what he was feeling were not fresh emotions but rather memories of emotions: his mind was telling him, based on experiences, how his heart, if he still had it, would have responded to a situation. And if that was so, he could very easily squash any shadow emotion that arose.**

**Good. Very good. Now he was ready. He began to visualize how tonight might go, the gaps during which he could sweep in—**

**His head jerked back. He heard a scrabbling at the cellar door. The witch didn't have to scrabble; she simply popped the lock and flipped the door open. Heels on the wooden steps. Panting. A shadow light from behind. The smell of roses.**

**"Rumple?"**

**"Belle!"**

**The memory of his heart leapt in his chest and he stood hastily, ran to the cage as she clattered down to his level. "I've come to free you!" **

**The joy on her face mirrored that in his chest, but he couldn't let this happen. Even now the magic of the dagger was reacting to the rise in his blood pressure as hope pulsed through his veins. The reins of his magic were taut, which meant that Zelena had his dagger somewhere on her body. Any second now, the dagger would heat up and vibrate in response to his excited state. He sat down, forcing his breath to quiet.**

**Belle's sweet face fell in confusion. Of course she didn't understand; he'd never discussed with her how the dagger worked. He never discussed anything of consequence with her. It was one of the ways he protected her; that's what he told himself anyway. But truthfully, it was one of the ways he protected himself. And in truth, there was much he hadn't known about the dagger, because, since it had come into his possession, he'd never allowed anyone else to touch it. **

**"No," he insisted hoarsely. "Leave. Leave! You have no idea what that witch will make me do to you if she catches us."**

**"I'm not afraid." The naïve girl swung his cage open. "You could never hurt me."**

**Even as he feared for her safety—and his sanity, should he be forced to kill her—he fell in love with her all over again, this trusting, daring soul who'd come to rescue him, without weapons, without soldiers. So—the researcher in him observed, Cora had lied: without a heart, one could still feel some semblance of love. **

**"As long as she holds the dagger, I cannot leave." He rushed his explanation, hoping that she would simply take his word for it and run away. **

**The stubborn girl leaned into the cage. "I'm not leaving without you."**

**"It's not worth the risk."**

**She reached for him. Magic pushed her back, but she thrust her arm past the barrier magic had created and she grimaced. "Just try." She was attempt to summon the magic of True Love to break through the barrier. Such a foolish hope, but he had to grant her this attempt. He lifted his arm too, and for a moment, their fingers touched, their hands grasped. "You just have to believe in us." She nearly fell over as she stretched her body its full length to reach him. All this for him. Risking her life for him.**

**No one had ever risked so much for him. No one had ever loved him like this. For a moment, he believed. He felt the reins loosening; he felt his mind coming back under his control. He got to his feet and walked to the edge of the cage. But then he felt the dagger yanking at him: Zelena was coming. "Run!" He propelled Belle backwards. "Run! Go!"**

**The laugh. Zelena. **

**Belle ran.**

**The dagger pushed him up the stairs, where Belle was falling into the protective arms of heroes. He emerged into the hazy daylight. "Zelena sends a message. She will face Regina without interference. The next time you try to stop her, I will kill you." **

**"Son of a bitch," David muttered.**

**From Tinker Bell's arms, Belle stared back at Rumple. At last it had sunk in with her: there was nothing to be done; there was no hope as long as Zelena held the dagger.**

**_As long as Zelena lived._**

* * *

><p><strong>So fast he couldn't catch his breath, magic swept him from the cage. When the world stopped spinning, the first thing he saw was his master's back. The second thing he saw was the circle of lamplight in which she stood, her enlongated shadow shining in the damp asphalt of the street. The third thing he saw was his dagger in her right hand. He fixed his eyes on that dagger. Any second now, any second now. . . .<strong>

**Zelena threatened to sic the Dark One on the town. He hung his head; he couldn't bear the disappointment underneath the shock in Belle's eyes. She knew Zelena controlled him, but she _felt_ betrayed by him nonetheless. **

**Zelena posed and postured, traded empty threats with Emma; he paid the conversation little attention. He watching that dagger. Zelena gestured toward Emma and automatically, he threw a gust of wind at the savior, bowling her over. **

**And then Regina appeared. More quips, more threats. Watch the dagger, watch the dagger. Regina slapped Zelena; Zelena hung onto the dagger. A traffic light was knocked down. The combatants yelled at each other, circling like boxers in a fight ring. Still Zelena kept the dagger. She threw Regina onto the hood of a car—but still kept the dagger. Regina came back, throwing fire; Zelena's magic blew out the flames. Zelena threw Regina into the clock tower. Now! "Belle!" he whispered, nodding frantically at the dangling dagger. Belle nodded and rushed forward. They both dove for the dagger, but Zelena heard them coming and flicked the dagger at him. In a blink he was back in the cage. In another blink, Zelena was slamming the cage shut. Hope was gone.**

**Still, he smirked. Belle was alive. Henry, wherever he'd been hidden, was safe. Zelena had lost the battle, though the war was yet to be fought. **

**"What, no meat pie?" he mocked her.**

**She punished him for that remark. **

**"We are doing it all over again," she smirked right back. "What I'm casting isn't a curse. It's a second chance."**

* * *

><p><strong>4 April 2014<strong>

**"Robin Hood has possession of my sister's heart. You will get it for me." With that she sent him into Robin Hood's camp. He was momentarily surprised to find Regina had trusted her heart to a common thief (and a married one at that), but he had a mission to carry out. Before he made himself visible to the Merry Men, he surveyed the field in search of an advantage. He found it straight off—and he tried to pretend he didn't see it. He couldn't do it, he couldn't bring himself to use a small child as a weapon against a father, so he frantically sought something else to use, but the magic caught him out and left him with no choice. Pleading with Robin Hood for cooperation, he trapped Hood's little boy and threatened to kill him. He returned to the witch with Regina's heart. "Good boy." Zelena patted his head. "You may go back to your cage now and celebrate our impending victory." **

**He went back to his cage and wept, ashamed, because to use a man's child against him was the act of a craven coward; and grieving, because the shaggy-haired Roland looked so much like Bae at that age.**

* * *

><p><strong>5 April 2014<strong>

**"They're having a field day," the witch reported as she fed him his breakfast. "They're celebrating in the streets. They're saying the Dark One is an overrated Vegas magician barely capable of pulling a rabbit out of a hat." She threw a spoon at him. "They've raided your shop and they're taking back their belongings. And they've stopped paying rent. Your man Dove just stands there blankly while they tear up the rent checks and toss the confetti in his face." She flicked her fingers and he began to eat in response to the unspoken command. "You lived among them for thirty years, paying your taxes, obeying their little laws, mowing your lawn. And what good did being good do you? They don't just disrespect you—they're laughing at you."**

**He turned his back to her. A small part of him believed her, but he would keep trying. What the town thought of him didn't matter: Belle loved him, loved him so much she'd risked her life to try to free him. That was all that mattered. That was enough to revive his hope. He'd been studying people for hundreds of years, and one thing he knew for sure: sooner or later, everyone slipped up. Sooner or later, he'd retrieve that dagger.**

**She brought him a suit, one that he recognized from his own closet. So she'd been in his home, snooping through his belongings. What else had she taken? If—when—he returned, would he find the house trashed, as if a gang of delinquents had used it for their flop house?**

**She invited him to wash and dress—didn't command it. She announced they would be celebrating tonight, as the baby would soon be born and her spell would soon be cast. From the flush in her cheeks, he realized she intended to act out one of her romantic fantasies with her doll. An opportunity. He would take it. He laughed bitterly as he bathed. He'd never thought of himself as an object of anyone's desire, and the condition he was in now made him even less tempting. But without magic, without money, without even physical strength, he had no weapon to wield, so he would prostitute himself, if it gave him a chance at the dagger.**

**For some strange reason, Zelena wanted him to want her. He'd convince her he did. If necessary, he'd take her to bed and make her sexual fantasies come true. He knew a great deal about pleasuring a woman—after all, he'd learned from Zelena's mother. He rinsed out his mouth, trying to remove from his tongue the sour taste of shame.**

**She'd cooked a chicken pie, and she'd worn a dress that revealed her ample cleavage, and as she poured a glass of wine, she bent over him, her partially exposed bosom scant inches from his nose. She was wearing Clive Christian No. 1, which cost $2,200, and of which there was only one bottle in all of Storybrooke. He knew because he'd bought it as a birthday gift for Belle; it had been wrapped in gold paper and stored in his sock drawer, awaiting the special day, which of course had been stolen from them when Pan came to town. So now he knew what else Zelena had stolen from the pink house. If he'd still had his heart in place, he would've been seething by now.**

**Her breasts weren't the only secret she exposed to him that night; she divulged her plan. Where her physical endowments couldn't tempt him, her audacity did. She offered him a re-set, a trip back through time that would enable them both to rewrite their lives. A second chance with Bae, she teased, and he was tempted. But a dim idea in the back of his mind lit up; he couldn't grasp it, but he'd learned long ago to trust his instincts, so he listened as the idea pushed forward: Bae had died a hero. Don't take that away from him.**

**He reached down inside himself, past the thick layer of selfishness, past the powerlust, past the loneliness, past the pain of abandonment, past the fear. At the root of his being he found a small light of goodness that still glowed, lived for Bae and Belle. He tapped into that light, and it with its power that he was able to resist her unholy offer.**

**Ironically, it was also with that power of good that he was able to drive himself into the witch's arms. With everything he had learned from her mother, he stroked her body; with the promise of returning to Belle, he kissed the witch, pouring passion—passion for freedom, rather than for a woman- into the effort. He took her by surprise, and she clung to him with her entire body as if he could save her from herself. He wrapped her leg around his waist, as if he would take her right there on the kitchen table amidst the boiled peas, and when her eyes closed and her leg encircled his waist, he stroked her—his hand moving not up her leg, but down, to her boot, to the dagger tucked into her boot.**

**She caught him and flung away from him. Screaming her betrayal, she sent him back to the cage. He'd sold himself—he'd cheated Belle—for nothing.**

* * *

><p><strong>His master (she referred to herself as his "mistress," taking advantage of the double meaning of the word) was building a curse that, she claimed, would enable her to travel back in time to change her personal history. He tried to tell her she was wasting her time (<em>crazy<em> was how he would have preferred to put it, but she had a low tolerance for backtalk): from the very beginnings of magic, practitioners had attempted to find a formula that would transport them through time, just as they'd learned how to transport themselves through space, but none had succeeded, not even the few who had dedicated their entire lives to the search. They could alter a victim's senses or memories to make him believe he'd relocated to another point in time; they could un-animate a victim for days or months, then reanimate him, leaving him with no awareness of the time that had passed between. And one mage, one very powerful mage, had even created a curse that caused an entire town to be locked in time, changeless, for twenty-eight years. But to transport oneself through time in an effort to rewrite history? A waste of time to even try. He argued himself blue in the face—he argued until, insulted, she slapped him—he argued until, enraged, she threatened to kill his friends and family (he didn't bother to tell her he had none of the former and precious few of the latter) unless he help her. He shut his mouth then. She would find out for herself soon enough. He knew, once she admitted the truth, her fury would run out of control even for her and people would die, some of them possibly people he cared about. **

**He allowed her to believe he'd changed his opinion when she showed him her formula. He was impressed: he admitted that. But where hundreds had tried and failed, he just couldn't see that the impulsive, hotheaded witch could succeed. **

**At least, he hoped not. Even the Dark One had his limits when it came to evil, and tinkering with the past—challenging the Ancient Ones who planned every living being's life down to the last thread—was out of bounds. **


	35. Chapter 34

**A/N. If you're enjoying this story, or have enjoyed any of my stories, would you please consider voting for one (or more) of my works in the Espenson Awards on Tumblr? Voting ends Feb. 7. Thanks!**

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><p>17 May 2014<p>

This was Regina's week with Henry. As soon as school let out, he'd ride his bike the ten blocks to her house (she still thought about it as _their_ house, though he was a part-time resident), park the bike in the garage next to her Mercedes, gallop across the lawn (maybe testing his athleticism by leaping over the hedges), throw the front door open, yell, "Mom! I'm home," drop his backpack onto the console table in the foyer, gallop up the steps to the dining room and then to the kitchen, where she'd be waiting with iced tea and lemon tarts from the bakery. They'd talk about school, his friends, his progress with Game of War: Fire Age, and what they would have for dinner that night. After they'd gotten dinner started, they'd crash in the family room to watch some TV until the meal was ready. It was _Leave It to Beaver_ and _The Donna Reed Show_ and _Ozzie and Harriet_ rolled into one; it was everything she'd ever wanted from family life, ever since she'd arrived in Storybrooke in 1983 and got Americanized from watching sitcoms. It was hard-won, however; this dreamt-of lifestyle with her son had come to Regina only recently, only after she'd chosen to follow the hero's path. Before that—well, let's not go there.

So Regina mixed a pitcher of iced tea and plated the lemon tarts and waited for that door to bang open. She'd prepared for his arrival, bringing in the cleaning service a day early to scour the mansion spotless; stocking the fridge with his favorites, along with nutritious foods; carefully refolding the clothes in his dresser to smooth out any wrinkles. In truth, Henry really didn't care about any of these things and would barely notice them, but she needed to fill her day somehow. Now that she was no longer mayor—and, thanks to the wealth the curse had bequeathed her, had no need to seek employment—she had a lot of time on her hands.

There was an expression she used to hear people say: "Get a life." She'd been thinking about that expression lately.

Three hours and twenty minutes 'til Henry. She wandered through her house, straightening picture frames, plumping cushions, rearranging flowers. She wandered out into the garden, hoping to find a weed her gardener had overlooked or a snail that needed crushing. She inspected her apple trees, admiring the shine on the skins of the heavy fruit. And then she heard voices, a man's and a woman's, laughing in the park across the street and she wandered over to her hedge to peek across, because she recognized those voices, and it was strange, very strange, to hear Gold laughing. In fact, in all these years in Storybrooke, she couldn't remember ever hearing him laugh. Snicker, yes; chuckle, on occasion; but never laugh.

She conjured a pair of binoculars so she could see exactly what was making her old mentor laugh. No, she wasn't being nosey; as a leader of this town, she needed to keep abreast of changes, particularly in the behavior of powerful people, and for Gold to laugh—after all Zelena had put him through, and while he was still in mourning, dressing head-to-toe in black (though, who'd notice? He'd always worn dark colors)—called for her attention. Besides, he should be at work, this time of day. So she peeked. Then she downright looked. And listened.

In the Henry Mills, Sr., Memorial Park (that was the proper name, as Regina frustratedly reminded people, but most folks referred to it as Moncton Park, after the street that bordered its southern edge), on a red-and-white checked blanket, Belle lay on her belly, kicking her feet in the air lazily as she read aloud. _The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_, the cover said. Beside her, stretched out flat on his back and _barefoot_, lay her husband, his eyes closed, though he'd open them occasionally to look up into her face. Behind them were a wicker basket and the remains of picnic (a baguette, some kind of cheese, wine, grapes).

On the far end of the park, kids played on the swings and the merry-go-round, tweens played basketball and Archie walked Pongo, but here, on the side of the park closest to the Mills Mansion, only the Golds dared. Were the rest of the park players afraid to come within eyeshot of the Mills Mansion, or were they steering clear of the Golds? (Was Belle going by "Gold" now? Or were they using last names at all? According to the _Mirror, _42% of the Enchanted Forest ex-pats had gone back to using their original names exclusively; 6% were using their Storybrooke names exclusively; 29% were using their original first names with their Storybrooke surnames, and the rest were still confused. An editorial in the _Mirror _claimed the name problem was just the tip of the confusion iceberg as, three years past the breaking of the curse, Storybrookers tried to sort out their identities, their families and their friends. "Emma Swan did us no favors," the editor wrote.)

So Ms French/Mrs. Gold or whoever she was calling herself these days was entertaining her hubby with a novel and he was laughing at the expected parts. The more she listened, though, the more Regina wondered if that laugh was genuine; his eyes weren't crinkling as they should be if he was really amused. Did Belle realize that he was just playing along (and if so, was she flattered)?

Regina squinted. There was something wrong with this picture. She'd had to beat down her inner demons with a heavy stick, day after day, for more than a year, to earn the happiness she had now, and yet, here lay Rumplestiltskin/Gold, still the Dark One, still a villain, enjoying the salad days of his marriage, lazing in the wealth the curse granted him. How come she had to change to get her reward and he didn't?

After the stab of envy passed—and she forced it out of her system quickly, remembering how envy had twisted her half-sister—Regina looked again, adjusting her binoculars so she could look closer. Yes, he was laughing—though it was a forced laugh. Yes, he was watching Belle with affection and admiration—but also with dark-ringed eyes. Deep lines creased his face now; bolts of gray shot through his brown hair. His skin hung loose and sallow on his emaciated frame. He'd gained a wife but lost a son. Maybe he'd paid a heavy enough price for the happiness he had now.

He reached up to brush away a strand of hair that had fallen into Belle's mouth, and impulsively she grasped his hand and kissed the palm. Regina noticed the bride wore dark circles under her eyes too, and the baby fat was gone from her cheeks. Regina had a vague memory of Belle spending a lot of time in the Forest befriending her would-have-been stepson, and another, clearer memory of Belle breaking down at Neal's funeral. That break down had mirrored the one Belle had suffered when Rumple killed himself. And then there was that nasty business with the secret asylum and the Dark Palace tower. . . .Okay. Mrs. French-Gold had paid a price too; maybe she deserved her happiness.

Regina felt a lightness in her chest, a faint smile stretching her lips. Maybe Rumple was still a villain; maybe not. He wasn't a hero, certainly, but maybe his time under Zelena had taken the villainy out of him and left him just a morally ambiguous, ethically confused man like most people. Let the Golds be happy. The one thing Regina had come to realize and accept in the past two years was that happiness was like water; you couldn't hold it in your hand. The best you could do was to freeze a moment in your memory.

She thought about the heart locked in her safe. Who was pure enough to control the heart of the Dark One? Not even Snow White could possess such power without it corrupting her. Belle might be a naif, but she wasn't a good choice for Heart Keeper either; she'd cave in rather than keep her husband in line. Besides, she already had the dagger. Maybe the heart was safest in the possession of someone who recognized villainy in all its permutations, someone who understood its root causes and false hopes, someone who'd been dark as pitch but had struggled her way back to goodness and still struggled every day.

Maybe there should be a balance: innocent Belle holding the dagger while the ex-Evil Queen held the heart. That way, neither could dominate the Dark One. Maybe the heart and the dagger were exactly where they should be, for everyone to remain safe. Including the previous owner.

* * *

><p>A soft snore interrupted Belle's reading. She didn't mind the interruption in the least. She closed her book and shifted onto her side so she could watch Rumple sleep. In sleep his features told the truth. She rested her hand on his chest and waited to learn how he was really feeling. He'd been hiding himself from her; she'd expected that; he didn't want to upset her. She'd tried to tell him that nothing he could reveal would drive her away. She'd tried to prove, in every minute of their life together, that he could depend upon her to help him overcome. They weren't there yet. She would be patient, though. They'd get there: the fact that he'd given her his dagger was proof of his perfect trust in her, and she'd never, ever abuse that trust.<p>

Not even if doing so would save him from his nightmares. She thought of the dagger, locked away in an iron box under a loose floorboard in their coat closet at home (any burglar who'd read his fair share of mysteries would think to look there—she was desperate to find a more secure hiding place). With the dagger she could order him to open up. She could push him into therapy. With the dagger she could facilitate the healing that clearly, would never happen without a dramatic catalyst. She could heal him, but she'd lose him in the process; he'd never forgive her for violating his trust.

Villains and heroes, good and evil. Hah. The people of this town may have come from fairy tales, but they were far too complex and their problems far too grave for simple tales. Belle watched a nightmare torment Rumple's exhausted face, and she wondered if, with the dagger, it would be possible to command him to have happy dreams. But no, a benign use of the dagger was still abuse of his trust. She shoved her curiosity about the dagger under the floorboards of her imagination.


	36. Chapter 35

**6 April 2014**

**If Zelena had won her fight against Regina last night—if Regina had been humiliated and killed, or perhaps just killed—would it have been enough? Would Zelena have walked away from her vainglorious plan to rewrite her family's history?**

**Rumplestiltskin tried to ask her this as she brought him his breakfast, but she merely sniffed. "I've succeeded in creating a spell that a hundred mages have tried and failed to create. Think about it, doll. If you were in my shoes—" she suddenly interrupted herself and squinted at him. "What a delicious turn of phrase. Just think: if you had only treated me right, back in the Enchanted Forest, I would have given you my silver slippers, you could have come here much, much sooner and with none of the hassle, you would have been reunited with your son—" she released a mock gasp. "Oh my, just think about it. You would have been reunited with him and none of the events of the past thirty years would have happened. You wouldn't have needed the curse. Storybrooke wouldn't exist. Regina would never have learned magic. You never would have encountered your daddy dearest again, you never would have had to kill yourself, Baelfire never would have had to trade his life for yours, and I never would have discovered the way to break the time barrier. So the fact that history is about to be made, as well as rewritten, is all down to you, isn't it? To you snubbing me—or would it be more accurate if I said, 'to you fearing me'? So the history you got is just simply _all . . your. . . fault_." She folded her arms. "Why aren't you thanking me, Rumple? I'm fixing your mistakes. Why aren't you on your knees, thanking me for giving your son a second life?"**

**When he didn't respond, she huffed and walked away from him.**

* * *

><p><strong>4 May 2014<strong>

**"She's having contractions."**

**He had gotten used to it by now: Zelena's sudden magical appearances in his cellar. He lifted his forehead from its resting place on his bent knee. "How do you know?"**

**"A little spell I put in her orange juice. The contractions are four minutes apart. Soon enough, they'll rush her to the hospital." Her eyes lit up like Christmas tree fairy lights. "It's time for you to make your contribution to the cause." She gestured to his wheel. "Spin, dearie. Spin as if your life depended on it."**

**He spun, his hands flashing, his magic pouring through them into the straw and converting the straw into gold. She conjured a receptacle to catch the gold threads. Sweat collected under his arms and on his brow, and his back ached and his fingers burned, but she'd given the command, so he spun until the plate was filled. "There, that will do." She entered his cage and retrieved the plate. "You said it yourself: spinning clears your mind, or should I say, your brain." She summoned her treasure chest of curse ingredients from its hiding place. With a soft wave of her hand, she shaped the thread into a solid-gold human brain and added it to her chest. "There's just one more ingredient to collect." So self-assured she seemed, and surprisingly calm, considering she had come to the brink of changing history.**

**She showed him a design she'd sketched on a sheet of business stationery she'd stolen from his house (unmistakably his: linen paper embossed in gold with "Mr. Gold Pawnbroker and Antiquities Dealer"). She led him into the barn, tossed a hoe at him and ordered him to reproduce the design in the ground: a circle within a circle within a circle, a cross intersecting them. She allowed him to use magic to get the lines and angles perfect and equidistant: a flaw and the magic would not flow into the center as she intended, but rather wander haphazardly and dissipate. He understood then that her design served as a compass and that the spell required the full force of the magic emanating from the combination of courage, intelligence, resilience and innocence. When he was nearly finished with his digging, she placed trays at strategic points on the outermost circle, then lay her three treasures down, one in each tray: the gold "brain" at the North point, Regina's heart at the South, David's sword at the East.**

**Realization of the meaning of these objects and their placement came more slowly to him, since he'd never visited Oz and, after having read a book or two on the land, had lost interest in it, as it had no portals (but did have one very annoying charlatan who kept sending thieves to attempt to steal stuff from the Dark Castle—as Gold now mused, rather like overzealous fangirls and –boys who root through their favorite rock stars' garbage for souvenirs). By the time he'd completed his digging—and a fruitless nature-or-nurture argument with the witch, who insisted that by changing events she could change herself (and him)—he had recognized her design: she'd reproduced the Compass Table of Oz. Each of the four Witches of Oz held dominion and drew her powers from one of the four primary directions on a compass, and each Witch brought to the Table one of the elements of magic: Glinda of the South brought love; Locasta of the North brought wisdom; Evanora of the East brought courage; and Dorothy of the West brought innocence.**

**The combination of the powers of these compass points and the powers of the elements would produce the greatest of all magic—if it worked. The slightest misdirection of any one of the forces either would fizzle out all the other elements, like a wet stick of dynamite, or would blow the barn sky-high. Rumple would gladly have taken the risk of self-destruction by digging one of his lines a little crooked, but she had commanded perfection, so the dagger would allow nothing else. He perfected, he dug, he wondered just how this great power would produce a time portal, and though he argued with her about destiny, her confidence had gotten under his skin, and he had to wonder: what if she was right. What if she permitted him to choose his own point of entry? Would he go back to the moment he and Bae hung over the portal pit? Would he go back to the moment he held the sledgehammer in his grip, poised to destroy his own ankle? Or would he go back farther?**

**Was there some point at which he could have caused Malcolm to love him? For that was the root, he realized, of every decision he'd ever made in his interminably long life.**

**"We've got guests," Zelena growled. She transported them from the barn to the yard to confront Hook and Emma. The women butted heads—something about stealing Emma's powers and a kiss; he supposed at some point Zelena would fill him in on the details, if this little scheme worked. And then Zelena ordered him to toss Hook into a water tank and drown him. It was one order he didn't mind carrying out. But, confoundedly, before he could drown the leather-hided rat, Zelena swept him and herself way.**

**He barely had time to grumble before she started walking. "Delivery has begun," she murmured. Like the dog on a magical leash that he'd become, he trailed along behind her as she marched, dagger displayed for all to see as both a warning and a symbol of her victory, into the hospital.**

**Gods, he hated hospitals. Terrible things, like the imprisonment of innocent women and the nursing of pirates who should have been left bleeding on wet highways, happened here. With a flick of Zelena's wrist, they magically broke through a squad of crossbow-armed Merry Men.**

**And then Belle appeared in the corridor to confront the witch. He barely had time to notice how scared and angry she was before Zelena sent her tumbling to the floor. He caught her—he would have traded everything in his shop if Zelena had only left him here, let him carry Belle to safety; he would have taken her home and let Snow and Charming and the rest of them fend for themselves. But, though, by herself she clearly outmatched anyone here and he had nothing more to do for her than trot along at her heels, the witch wouldn't release him. Zelena wiped out Regina with a single magic blow and neutralized Charming and his shiny new sword. There was no one else to stand in her way then. She snatched the baby from its mother's arms. Another cloud of magic and he, she and the baby, like some dark family, were walking up the steps of the farmhouse. He reached ahead to open the door for her.**

**"Why are you waiting? You have all your ingredients." He spoke through grit teeth.**

**She rolled her eyes. "Really, Rumple. When I said I was taking your brain, that was just a figure of speech. I took just a sampling; I left most of your intelligence intact." She looked him up and down. "Or so I thought."**

**She led him through the living room and down a hallway, where a grandfather clock informed him of the time: half past eleven. Oh. She was waiting for noon, then. The two most powerful hours for casting spells, especially those based in directional magic, were noon and midnight, when the pull of magic was aligned with the pull of nature. He wondered just how much of his brain she'd taken; he was awfully slow on the uptake today.**

**She led him to the kitchen, ordered him to sit and presented the baby to him to hold while she put on the tea kettle. He would have rather she had asked him to hold her corset than to hold this baby. As she clattered about, removing her coat, gathering her teapot and cups and tea leaves and sugar bowl, he stared down at the baby.**

**Less than twenty minutes old. He shuddered. He'd seen some newborns, but that was long ago and in a village far away, when the spinsters who raised him had been called upon to assist with bringing new lives into the world. He'd been allowed to peek into the swaddling to see the red, wrinkled faces with the eyes glued shut. Those babies had all been washed, though, and the bloodied sheets and the afterbirth removed from the bedchambers before he'd been ushered inside to have his peek. As a child, he had realized he was expected to cherish these moments as awesome displays of the magic of nature, but in truth, he hadn't. Instead, his eyes had taken in the exhaustion on the mothers' faces, the smell of blood that still hung in the air, the dread in the fathers' eyes as they silently counted their children's heads and realized that the half-loaf of stale bread on the kitchen table and the spoonfuls of pottage in the hearth kettle would not be enough, not nearly enough.**

**Miracle of life. The true miracle, young Rumple had thought, would be if this newborn fought its way out of this hovel and into a better life.**

**Now, with a still blood-streaked newborn in his arms, Rumplestiltskin saw no miracle here. He saw a child that would live just long enough to serve as an ingredient in a crazy woman's spell. If the confluence of the elements didn't kill the child, the reversion in time would simply wink it out of existence.**

**"You look a natural."**

**He jerked his head up to find Zelena leaning against the counter and smiling at him.**

**"From the stories you tell about Bae, I gather you were a hands-on kind of father. Progressive, compared to the men of your time." She winked at him. "But we're going to change that—your time, I mean. As for your childrearing abilities, I do hope the change in venue won't affect them too much." She made her voice husky. "I plan on having lots of your children."**

**If he were capable of feeling anything, he would have had her throat in his grip by now. She sniffed at him and turned her back on him to prepare the tea. She knew she had nothing to fear from him; the dagger lay tucked into her waistband.**

* * *

><p><strong>The clown patrol arrived just as the spell fired up. As they squared off, Regina against Zelena, David and Robin against a flying monkey, Hook and Emma against him, Rumple searched their faces. He found only fear, no welcome for himself. Where was Belle? The fact that she hadn't been included in the rescue party suggested to him that the rescue was intended for the baby only. Did they think they would kill him, with their handguns and swords? Hadn't they learned anything from living beside magic users? Between the two armies, Zelena's grand spell fizzled out.<strong>

**Pale as ghosts, the fools brandished their steel and, in response to Zelena's command, he flung them against bales of hay and barn walls. "Get the dagger," he urged–practically begged–Emma and Hook (Hook! That was how desperate Rumple was. He'd rather Hook take the dagger than it remain in Zelena's possession). "Then the Dark One will be on your side." His word choice slipped by him unnoticed; only later did he realize he'd spoken as if there were a separation between himself and the cursed spirit that had occupied his soul for three hundred years. Having shared this brain with Bae too this past year had reminded him that his own small soul was buried in this body somewhere, still alive, if defeated and in hiding.**

**But the fools just gaped at him. What did they expect, that he'd give them a big hug, wave goodbye to Zelena and skip off with them as if he'd been playing House with the witch all along? "Do as I say or I will destroy you both. I have no choice."**

**They blinked at him stupidly. Hopeless. He sighed in exasperation as he tossed them around like cornhusk dolls. But then something changed for Regina, in Regina, and a new, white magic came into her hands. With a single shove she drove Zelena to the dirt.**

**The dagger dropped to the dust.**

**Fools! They stood there watching Regina exchange hot-air quips with her sister, while all the power in the universe lay in the dust at their feet. Had they learned nothing? Had they forgotten the lesson of Cora already? Rumple stood stock still, not attracting notice, but with a flick of his wrist he summoned the dagger to him, to the lining of his jacket, and left a copy in its place.**

**Regina snapped the pendant from Zelena's neck, rendering her magicless. And then the fools gathered up the baby and walked away. They would have left the homicidal witch to her own devices if Rumple hadn't stepped in, ready to mete out justice in the extreme. The witch must not be left alive; why didn't they get that? All right, supposing they didn't give a damn about the torment she'd subjected him to; and it was clear they didn't, for no one showed the least concern–or even curiosity about him. No one asked if he was injured or needed a doctor. No one said, "We're glad you're alive" or "It's good to see you free again" or "Would you like to use my phone to call Belle" or "We're sorry for what the bitch did to you" or "Would you like a ride back to town?"**

**Or "We'll make sure the witch pays for killing Neal."**

**Walk away. They would just walk away, leaving her free to walk away too. And so he would kill her, before she could scheme, before she could gather resources (didn't they know from living with Regina that a mage always tucks away small packets of magic here and there, like a squirrel tucks away acorns?). He took her in his magic grip and would have strangled her–too quickly to satisfy justice, but he was anxious to act before she could. He would choke the life from her and it would be his turn to conjure nails, one for every torment she'd put him through, to seal her coffin.**

**But Regina, all whitely glowing over her sanctimonious conversion to Good, intervened, sweeping up the (fake) dagger and commanding him to play nice. He had to obey. He wanted them to think Regina had his dagger; their assumption that the mad dog was still leashed and under control would free him for awhile from the next would-be dagger thief. Let the next Cora/Zelena pursue a fake; the real dagger would be safely tucked away at home.**

**So he released Zelena. For the moment.**

**And he let Regina transport her to the jail, let the heroes climb into their pickup trucks and their VWs and leave him standing in the barn, alone. After all, now that one of them controlled him, they could ignore the Dark One until the next time they required information.**

**If he still had his heart, he might feel insulted, rejected, abandoned. He might even get angry at them, might even decide to turn his back on the lot of them. Let them fend for themselves when the next Big Bad struck; he would take his beloved–the only person who cared–and his grandson and find a way to get out of this town, with his magic intact, even if it took him years to figure out how.**

**Because no one would ever attack his family again. And no one would would ever enslave him again.**

**He transported himself back to his shop to find Belle.**


	37. Chapter 36

_12 December 2014_

_Looking back, Belle wonders if their fate had been sealed from the moment Rumple thrust his dagger through his own and Pan's bodies (she has to think of him as Pan, not Rumple's father; it's the only way she can accept the horrible reality of the man's intention to kill his entire bloodline). Or had there been a moment things could have changed in an entirely different direction–a moment when a single question or action could have released Rumple's heart from the ice that now surrounds it?_

_A single moment, a gesture of concern. In the seconds following Zelena's defeat and his rescue from her, what small gesture might have given Rumple to know he mattered to this community? In that abandoned barn, if, after she had picked up his dagger, Regina had given it back to him instead of making him a prisoner once again, if she had turned the handle around and without a word presented it to him, demonstrating her trust in his judgment, her respect for her former teacher, would that have been enough to show Rumple this town believed in him? Would he have then hesitated, turning the dagger around in his hands, savoring, after a full year of slavery, the sweet air of freedom? Would have slipped the dagger into his tattered suit jacket and, with a final dismissive sneer at Zelena, walked away?_

_A single question could have subtly acknowledged the fact that Rumple had spent a year in hell and have offered a subtexted apology from heroes who couldn't bring themselves to admit that they hadn't even tried–hadn't even discussed trying–to free him or bring him comfort while he was in Zelena's cage. Any of a number of questions could have given Rumple to know that people cared (or if not, at least realized he had a significant role to play in the community, as a bearer of knowledge):_

_"Are you hurt?"_

_"Are you hungry?"_

_"Are you cold?"_

_"Do you need a doctor?"_

_"Would you like to use my phone to call Belle?"_

_"Would you like a ride home?"_

_"I'm so sorry about Bae."_

_"We'll make sure she pays for what she's done."_

_"Can I help in any way?"_

_How about a simple_

_"We missed you."_

_Or_

_"Glad you're back."_

_Or maybe just an arm around his shoulder would have been enough to deter him from his course of vengeance, power-collecting, and coldblooded rejection of society._

_Or if she could had gone with the heroes–she can handle herself in a fight; Mulan taught her, assessed her abilities, then taught her techniques to match so she could fight smart–if someone had aroused her so she could have gone to the barn with the heroes instead of leaving her to slumber in a hospital bed, she would have rushed to Rumple's side, would have grabbed his dagger before Regina did, would have immediately given it to him to prove to him she and this town trusted him to do the right thing. Could that have been enough to turn his heart around?_

_Despite the friendliness she puts on like a multicolored cloak, Belle hates this town. And right now, she's not too fond of herself._


	38. Chapter 37

4 May 2014

When Zelena's pendant was taken from her, her magic snapped, and the spells she had created were undone, among them, the sleeping spell she'd placed on Belle.

Belle awoke to find herself in a hospital bed with a Candy Striper standing over her. "Hi," the teen greeted. "Would you like some water?"

But before Belle could nod, a commotion in the hallway drew their attention. People ran by so fast Belle couldn't identify them, but she thought she recognized a flash of steel. "Hey!" she shouted, struggling to sit up. Her head and joints ached from the spell she'd been under.

A blonde head poked in for just a second. "It's okay!" the savior shouted, and the Candy Striper automatically tried, unsuccessfully, to shush her. "Zelena's powerless and we've got the baby back!"

"Rumple?" Belle slid to her feet, unsteadily.

"Huh?" Emma's attention was focused once again on her comrades-in-arms and the babe in her father's arms.

"Where's Rumple?"

"Oh." Emma shrugged. "He's okay. I expect he'll come looking for you." She darted back out into the hallway, but as an afterthought grabbed the doorknob and leaned in again long enough to add, "We're safe. Regina's got his dagger."

"Regina?!"

Emma ran off without answering.

"Bring me my clothes," Belle demanded. Then she remembered she was talking to a pig-tailed kid and she softened the order with "Please."

As she was dressing, a puff of white smoke appeared before her. She hastily buttoned her blouse and reached out for the passenger inside the magic. "Rumple?"

"Sorry, no." A rich voice said smoothly. Regina materialized, smiling, the dagger in her grip. She stopped smiling as she sized Belle up. "What happened to you?"

"Zelena. Sleeping spell."

"Oh. Well, she won't bother you again. Or any of us." Regina grinned again.

"Where is she? And where's Rumple?"

"She's in jail, powerless. I suppose we'll have a trial and decide what to do with her. Personally, I want to see her given a second chance, now that she's had her magic taken away."

Belle growled, "What about Rumple? Why do you have his dagger?"

"He would have killed her. I had to stop him."

Belle scowled. "So now that you're a hero, you're taking over as his next master. Is that it?"

"Actually, no." Regina flipped the dagger around in her hand, handle out. "I'm giving it to you. He needs to be kept. . . under maintenance, shall we say, for now. After all she put him through, we need to watch him a while."

"Watch him?" Belle echoed, still scowling.

"For a few days, to make sure he's. . . himself. And I can think of no one better for that job than you." Regina offered her the dagger. "This power is safe with you. You won't abuse it."

Belle took the dagger but remained skeptical. "Knowing how I feel about him, you're trusting me to 'maintain' him."

"I'm doing my best to make amends, Belle."

Belle studied her and judging her to be sincere, nodded. Regina smiled in relief. "Now, shall I transport you somewhere? Where do you think he'd go first?"

"The shop. He'd go to the shop to look for me." Belle slid the dagger into her tote bag and straightened her shoulders, preparing to be overcome by magic.

"On your way, then. I'll make it a soft landing." Regina summoned her powers.

"Regina—thank you."


	39. Chapter 38

**4 May 2014**

**He walked slowly around his shop, touching familiar objects. He'd come home. **

**He didn't expect a homecoming party; heroes don't celebrate the return of local villains, even if, for a few minutes, their goals had aligned. The town would just as soon he'd returned back to the Dark vault when they arrested Zelena: his disappearance would have solved a bit of a dilemma for them, in deciding whether to punish him for his villainy while under Zelena's control. In the end, they'd apparently decided by silent consent not to decide; once they'd captured Zelena, they simply walked away from him, leaving him alone in the barn. Their dismissal of him could be perceived as an act of cowardice; he did, after all, still have his magic, and even with Regina on their side, they couldn't have withstood another magic fight. **

**As they turned their backs on him, he snatched up his dagger and in its place in the dirt, he left a fake. With a small movement he drew Regina's attention to the fake, his own version of the pea-in-the-shell game, and Regina grabbed the dagger, throwing him a small smirk. She and the other heroes would believe he was now under their control; they would, of course, "manage" his behavior for his own good. The Dark One could not be trusted, especially after a year under Zelena's rule, whereas, apparently, the newly reformed Regina could be—could be depended upon to wield the Dark One wisely. Once she'd pocketed the fake dagger, she turned her attention back to Zelena. She needn't give a second thought to her new slave.**

**So he wasn't surprised the heroes had chosen to ignore him—doing nothing for him in his freedom, just as they'd done nothing for him in his captivity. No one, not even his son's beloved, had bothered to ask if he needed a doctor or a cup of water or a ride into town. Absorbed in themselves, their newborn, their new prisoner, not one of them had spared a word for him.**

**But deep down, the little boy in him had hoped for. . .something. **

**He stared into the mirror on the wall. He'd cleaned himself up before transporting himself here; even after all he'd been through, he still took pride in his appearance. His cheeks, always lean, had sunken; his skin, naturally leathery, had paled from months underground. The few strands of gray in his hair had become streaks. But the most noticeable change—and he would have to cover up this change before he reunited with Belle, lest he alarm her—was the death in his eyes. **

**He had to do something about that, or else he'd find himself drawn back to the vault. He needed fire. **

**The shopkeeper's bell above his door jangled and Belle threw herself into his arms. As he stroked her hair and kissed away her tears, a flame flickered in his belly. He was so tired, so hopeless: Cora, Hook, Pan and Zelena were just the beginning. As long as he remained bound to the dagger, he was vulnerable, and anyone he allowed near him was at risk. No one should have to pay with their lives for loving him. **

**He'd only just been freed. His physical and mental states were so deteriorated, he was fit company for no one, and after time interminable in the vault, his soul had all but rotted away. Holding Belle against his barely beating heart, he wondered if he should chase her away again, as he had so many times before, but Hook's attack upon her had proven to him it was too late. As far as his enemies were concerned, she was his and he, hers. He owed it to her to protect her, and he could only do that by keeping her close. **

**He tried to warn her—he **_**had**_** changed, but not as she hoped. "I will never comprehend why you continue to stand by my side." Besotted by hope, she wouldn't listen. Oh, how he hated betraying her, but his options left him no real choice: he could be the forgiving man she wished for, or he could continue on his course of killing off all who threatened his family, thereby sending an unmistakable message, and perhaps, the next would-be-Dark-One killer would leave Belle and Henry alone. **

**He doubted whether, given only those options, even the great hero Charming would have made a different choice. So, though he was hardly husband material, he asked her to marry him, in words as lovely as she was, because she deserved poetry and flowers and happy-ever-afters. He led her into believing he'd pledged his troth on the blade of his dagger, and then he'd given her the dagger, the seat of all his power and the symbol of his faith. **

**Except it was **_**almost**_** all a deception. Not a lie, he pleaded with himself; simply a failure to correct her misconceptions about the dagger. And if a deception is no better than a lie, didn't it take some of the wrong out of it, that it was for her protection? Didn't the truthfulness of his love set to rights the lie?**

**She'd seen his madness. She'd seen the sick state his imprisonments—the vault, the cage—had driven him to. Yet, perhaps because she'd been subjected to similar treatment at Regina's hands and had never surrendered, she couldn't see the death in his eyes.**

**That would come later. **

**But she'd stand by him, he was as sure of it as he was sure that he needed her (that if he still had his heart, it would be filled with love for her—and someday, when they were free to leave this town and go someplace safer—not safe, for they would never be safe; Hook's pursuing him to Manhattan had proven that—he would reclaim his heart and they would run). They had, unwittingly perhaps, naively, certainly, pledged themselves to each other long ago. Now they would put that pledge in writing for the rest of the world to acknowledge. She would stand by him, and he would draw her closer and protect her with every resource at his disposal. . . as he should have done Bae. **

**He could never make things right, but he could achieve justice. And it would have to be him to pursue it. If he'd ever harbored, for the smallest moment, the illusion that the law would achieve justice for Bae, this day had proven that notion foolish. Just as he had always been, from the day three hundred years ago when Malcolm took him away from security and comfort and made a junior con man of him, Rumplestiltskin was solely responsible for his own welfare, his own protection. He was his own provider, his own teacher, his own nurturer, his own defender, his own law and his own avenging angel.**

**And so, moments after the proposal, his new fiancée had left the warmth of his arms to speak to her father (yes, Rumple silently admitted, he should have gone with her; he should have tried to make amends with her father so that the marriage could start with a clean slate, but he had another duty to fulfill first, so he allowed Belle to talk herself into going to Moe alone). And once she had gone, he took his dagger, the real one, to the jail and he bought justice for Bae, at a very heavy cost.**

* * *

><p>"<strong>I don't <strong>_**lie**_**," he'd once insisted to Charming. **

**But now, all that changed. **

**Standing in the jailhouse, trying to figure out what had happened to Zelena, the heroes turned to him, as they always did, for an educated guess. Regina turned **_**upon**_** him. "Unless you did something to her."**

**There was no time to craft words. He had to lie—for Belle's sake, he reminded himself. To protect Belle. So he broke his code; it was surprisingly easy, thanks to the scheme he'd set up with the fake dagger. With a plain "no" and an application of magic to the surveillance tape, he flat-out lied. Belle backed him up in the lie—he'd sunk to a new low, using a member of his family to sell a lie.**

**Superficially, it was easy; that night, when he walked Belle home and left her, bewildered and a little insulted, at her doorstep with no more than a kiss on the forehead, he found lies, even to Regina, didn't sit well in his gut.**


	40. Chapter 39

**A/N. I just want to say thank you for sticking with the story this far. When I started it, I expected the content to be difficult: we're watching our protagonist go through terrible tortures and become more selfish and ruthless than he's ever been. But the story has turned out to be structurally challenging, with two different timelines and multiple points of view entwined. I've tried to drop visual clues, by changing chapters, changing typeface (bold for Rumple, plain text for everyone else's points of view), and by marking dates. But I know it's a complicated read (just like _OUAT_ can be, and like its predecessor _Lost_ was), so I thank you for being patient with it.**

* * *

><p>4 May 2014<p>

Things were going well with Roland, even better with Robin. Regina touched her swollen lips in remembrance of the afternoon as she stood on the porch, waving goodbye as her two men rode off in Friar Tuck's new Silverado. When the truck turned a corner and she lost sight of them, she walked back inside her house to clean up the remains of lunch, take-out from Mulan's new taqueria. She would have to take a bicarbonate of soda before bed tonight; Mexican food didn't sit well with her, but her boys loved it, so she ignored her stomach for their sake.

She touched her lips again. Things were going very well indeed.

Roland had sat in her lap this afternoon, the child telling her his favorite bedtime story, a rambling tale that had something to do with moon men waging war against dragons. As Roland shaped his hand into a dragon's mouth and roared, Regina caught herself remembering a certain patchwork dragon, and just for a second, she wondered if she'd made the right decision.

Now, as she tossed plates and silverware into the dishwasher, she found herself remembering Trajan's fascination with kitchen appliances, and again she wondered. Roland and Trajan had gotten along so well. . . .But Trajan was Zelena's child, and Zelena was this year's Public Enemy Number One in Storybrooke. They'd agreed—Emma, Belle and she—that the best place for Trajan was someplace else. They'd agreed.

She wiped her hands on a dishtowel and reached for her phone. "Dr. Hopper, it's Mayor—it's Regina Mills. Just curious: have you heard anything from the Hoffmans? . . . What about your contact at Protective Services?. . . Well, could you find out, please?. . . _Now_, please. Unless walking your dog is more important than the welfare of a child—yes. Call me back at this number. I. . .I'm no longer using the Mayor's office."

As she hung up, she dropped onto her couch to wait and think. What _was _she doing these days, now that she no longer had a town to run? She had money enough to be idle, but idleness was hardly in her nature. All her life, she'd worked towards something. She couldn't just sit around waiting for the next visit from her boys; she needed to be productive, needed to be out there, in the thick of things. With people.

Her phone rang and she snatched it up. "Hopper? . . .Oh. Hello, Chantelle. Yes, I'll be in tomorrow at ten for my fitting. . . .Yes. Thank you. Tomorrow." She hung up before her dressmaker could ramble on about what wonderful taste in clothes Madame Mills had, and what a perfect figure. Not that Regina didn't know all that already, and on any other day would enjoy the brown-nosing, but she had other matters on her mind right now.

Her phone rang again. "Hopper?"

"He's doing well, Regina. Adjusting nicely. His new brother has taught him to play football, and the Hoffmans bought him a bike. They've enrolled him in kindergarten. He's eating regular meals, he goes to bed at eight o'clock and sleeps through the night, he's even brushing his teeth without complaint. He's going to be fine."

"That's good news." Regina sucked in a breath. "All right, then. Keep me posted." She hung up, not certain if what she'd heard really felt like good news or not. She pattered upstairs in her stocking feet, wandered into the empty bedroom, fluffed a pillow or two, wandered into the bathroom and took an Alka-Seltzer. Wandered to her own room and lay back on her four-poster bed, and threw an arm across her eyes and wondered what the hell to do with her life.

* * *

><p>Emma ran into her office and grabbed her ringing phone. "Sheriff Swan. . . Oh, hi, Archie. . . . Yeah, sure I'd like to know. He was a sweet kid. . . .Uh-huh. . . .That's good. . . Uh-huh. . . .Yeah. . . . A Red Sox game, huh? Cute. . . . Well, that's good news. Glad he's getting along. Especially glad he has a family to raise him. . . Me? Doing fine. I was just out having a late lunch with Killian. . . . Don't get nosey, Archie. I get enough of that from my parents. . . . Yeah, I'm sure Belle will be glad to hear about Trajan. I'll give her a call later today, share the good news. . . .Okay, Archie. Talk to you later."<p>

Emma dropped into her leather swivel chair (an ergonomically correct chair, a birthday gift from her parents) and caught her breath. She was a little winded, truth be told, not from her run into the office to catch the phone, but from, well, some after-lunch snogging. She'd introduced Killian to the concept of breath mints, so of course he'd wanted to test them. . . She touched her swollen lips. Things were going pretty good with Killian. Not _great_ yet—she found herself still remembering a certain jaunty grin that had always made her heart skip a beat, and as long as that memory could still produce that reaction, she knew wasn't completely ready to let go of Neal. Maybe she never would. But like Trajan, she couldn't let the death of a loved one hold her back from living. She had to move on.

She walked out of the office into the jail and crossed over to the windows to survey her town. She watched the school bus go by. Henry had been pestering her to let him register for school again, but she'd been holding back, holding on to New York and the happiness they'd found there. She wondered briefly, for the hundredth time, if going back to New York was the right thing. She planned to stay for her new brother's "coronation potluck," but then she and Henry would hit the road. Henry's best chance lay in New York, she was sure of it; Storybrooke was just too crazy. Still, if he'd had a say in the matter, Henry would probably choose to live here, with his other mom and his grandparents, even. . .

Even that one, walking down the street hand in hand with Belle. "Grandpa," Henry had called him, while David was "Gramps." Emma couldn't bring herself to use the man's real name; it was just too crazy. There he went, the most dangerous man in town, walking hand in hand with his librarian girlfriend. Walking into the ice cream parlor. That man was just another reason why Henry needed to grow up in New York.

Except. . . he didn't look so dangerous right now, holding hands like that. She'd seen that look before: on his son's face, when he'd promised to take her to Tallahassee. The look of a man in love.

That's when a man got _really _dangerous.


	41. Chapter 40

**4 May 2014**

**Rumple smiled, but the smile didn't quite reach his eyes; realizing that, he distracted Belle with a flourish of his hands as she opened the door to her apartment to admit him. "For you, sweetheart." In his right hand he produced a bouquet of daisies, while his left offered a stack of magazines. At her small warning frown, he assured her, "No magic, just sleight of hand." He didn't mention that he'd learned such parlor tricks from his father, for the purpose of charming and distracting people while Malcolm picked their pockets. She still frowned a little, and he drew a little cross upon his chest. "I bought these at the pharmacy. With money. No deals, I promise."**

**She smiled then and stood aside, allowing him to enter as she accepted his gifts. Carrying them into the kitchenette, she said, "Thank you, Rumple. I'll put these in water." She sniffed the daisies before arranging them into a vase, which she then set on the counter. She stood back to admire them. "They're lovely." Then she rifled through the magazines and chuckled. "_Modern Bride_? _Perfect Weddings_?" She laughed aloud at the last issue in the stack. "_Cosmo's Secrets for Pleasing a Man—and Yourself_."**

**He blinked innocently. "How did that one get in there?"**

**She tucked that issue into her linen closet. "We'll just save that one for the wedding night." Turning to the stove, she stirred one pot and uncovered another. "Dinner's almost ready." **

**Since her tiny apartment had no dining room, she'd laid out a tablecloth across the coffee table in front of the couch. He set the makeshift dining table with silverware, napkins and glasses of iced tea, and she dished up plates of spaghetti and French bread toasted with cheese. She'd intentionally avoided the more traditional garlic bread; she anticipated some after-dinner kissing. They settled side by side on the couch to eat and chat about their day. **

**"Father agreed to walk me down the aisle," she reported.**

**He raised an eyebrow. "He's accepting of our getting married, then? And having the Dark One as a son-in-law?"**

**She cocked her head aside. "Well. . . let's say he came around, and I have every confidence that in a year or two, he'll give his approval."**

**"And how did this miracle come to pass?" He shot her the same warning frown she'd used on him earlier. "Belle. . . was there magic involved?"**

**"Rumple, you know I'm not magical."**

**"Oh, you're much more powerful than you take credit for, sweet one." He stroked her cheek. "One bat of those long eyelashes and a man is putty in your hands. One tear glistening on your rosy cheek will drive him to his knees, begging forgiveness, though he doesn't know what for."**

**She batted those eyelashes. "There may have been a tear or two involved, along with a forgiving hug. And a deal."**

**"A deal?"**

**She shrugged. "I learned from the best."**

**"Does this deal call for me to do anything?"**

**"Dinner once a month at our house. He promised to keep the conversation light, if you would."**

**"I can be charming." His voice automatically squeaked on the last word, an old habit he couldn't break. He reached over with his napkin to dab at a spot of sauce on her chin. "Well, perhaps not _charming_, but civil, anyway. I promise, no sword play, real or metaphorical, as long as he's courteous to me and respectful of our marriage."**

**"He agreed to leave the past in the past."**

**Rumple bowed his head. "Then I shall do the same."**

**Belle narrowed her eyes. "There's one more thing. This is my idea, not his."**

**"Yes?"**

**"In Avonlea, it's tradition for a groom to give his bride a gift on the night of the wedding."**

**"And vice versa?"**

**"Well." Belle blushed. "Her maidenhood is considered her gift to him."**

**"I see. Go on."**

**"The gift I'd like from you is—I'd like to you speak to him before the wedding. Meet for coffee." She drew in a breath, then released it and her words in a rush. "I want you to apologize for beating him up. And he's going to apologize to you for interfering in our relationship."**

**He looked down at his spaghetti. "Is he, now?" **

**"He is. It was a condition I placed on accepting his apology to me, for trying to erase my memory."**

**His mouth twitched. "You've become quite the dealmaker."**

**"Will you?"**

**"Is this another deal? I apologize to him and you'll forgive me for having attacked him?" But there's no bitterness in his voice, just a suggestion of hope.**

**"No, Rumple. I love you; my forgiveness is always yours, unconditionally. Just as I hope yours is for me."**

**He smiled genuinely then and kissed her palm. "I could never stay angry at you, sweetheart. Not even if you invited your father to move in with us." He raised a warning finger. "Now you before you get any ideas, that was just an extreme example."**

**"You'll meet with him, then?"**

**"For coffee tomorrow. Yes. And I'll apologize." He caught the doubt in her expression. "And I'll mean it. A permanent truce." He picked up his fork. "An apology may be called for, I agree. I should never have believed Regina when she claimed he caused your death."**

**"Thank you, Rumple." Wisely, she let the topic lay where it was. They ate in silence for a few minutes, until she broached another topic. "You know, that has me thinking. . . how do we know Zelena is really dead? I mean, if she had enough residual magic to destroy herself, maybe she had enough to _fake_ having destroyed herself."**

**"You're safe from her." There was a coldness to his tone. "I promise you."**

**"Don't you mean _we're_ safe from her?"**

**"Yes, of course. Let's not talk about her, please, Belle. I'd rather put all that behind us."**

**Her mouth flattened: she knew he'd never begin to heal unless he talked about his experiences of the past year. But how could she refuse when he'd asked her so sincerely—and when the topic brought such a haunted look to his eyes?**

**"Now," he interrupted her thoughts, "if we're going to marry in less than a week, we have some decisions to make right away. Who would you like to officiate, since justice of the peace is one profession the curse didn't assign to anyone? I suspect the local clergy would have some objections to marrying us."**

**She pondered. "In the Enchanted Forest, a queen or king could perform weddings." His face darkened, and she nodded. "I agree. I'm not too happy with the Charmings right now, and I certainly don't want Regina officiating at my wedding." She pondered some more, then brightened. "You know, we're a whole new thing here, Storybrooke is; part Enchanted Forest, part American, and part something undefinable. We can make our own rules. I'd like for someone we both like to officiate."**

**"I'd agree, but Henry's a bit young for that responsibility, wouldn't you say? And there's no one else in this town that fits your description."**

**She swatted at his arm. "Oh, come on, I'm sure there's _someone_ else we both like."**

**He considered. "Josiah Dove?"**

**"Yes, but I was thinking someone with more of a leadership capacity, to make it official. I was thinking of Archie."**

**He smiled wryly. "If my bride wishes to be married by a cricket, who am I to say nay? I'll ask him tomorrow."**

**"Now let's talk about the ceremony." She pushed her plate away, her appetite forgotten as she daydreamed. "I've always wanted an outdoor wedding, in the moonlight."**

**"Midnight." The word broke from him and he scowled briefly, remembering that natural magic is at its most potent at noon and at midnight—and that made him remember Zelena. He shook his head. "Sorry, darling. Bad memory. Go on. Outdoor in the moonlight. What else? A large audience, all in formal wear? A chamber choir? My bride deserves a wedding that would rival any royal's."**

**But they both lowered their gazes, as they realized what a mistake it would be to hold a large wedding. So few Storybrookers would be accepting of this union; most who came would only do so to gawk at the bride sacrificing herself to a demon. As for those few who knew better—the town's heroes—neither Belle nor Rumple felt like celebrating with them, considering their abandonment of him. It still galled Belle that even after Rumple had sacrificed himself to save the town from Pan, there had been no words of gratitude, no acknowledgement of his heroism. They hadn't even thrown him a funeral. She and Bae had had to say their goodbyes to him alone. She hadn't mentioned this failure on the part of the town leadership to Rumple; nothing good could come from informing him of it. But she suspected he suspected they'd either blown him off or even celebrated his loss. **

**Sometimes, Belle thought, humans could be damn disappointing.**

**"I want a private wedding. My father, Archie, Josiah, Henry," she enumerated. "And Bae."**

**His head jerked up and his eyes, widened, connected with hers. If he could feel, he thought, he'd be choked up right now. He nodded. "And Bae." He cleared his throat. "Let's talk about your ring." He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and brought out a jewelry box. "There are a good many rings in the shop, some of them quite special, including one that's rumored to have been forged by Hephaestus for Aphrodite. And then there's this." He set the box in her hand. "It can't compare with the Aphrodite stone, but. . . ." He shrugged and waited as she opened the box.**

**She let the ring rest in her palm as she admired it: a simple white gold band with a pattern of roses entwined around a sizable diamond. "It's beautiful. You made this, didn't you?"**

**He nodded. "After our first hamburger date. I, uh, used magic to create it."**

**"This is the ring I want." She admired it some more before replacing it in the box and returning it to him. "And none other. Thank you, Rumple." She kissed him. "I think that's when I knew , too, that we'd get married someday."**

**He returned the box to his jacket. "I'm glad you like it. Glad you like _me_." He took her hands in his. "There's still time, if you have second thoughts—I did tell you once that I'm a difficult man to love, even harder to live with." He looked at her closely. "That's only worsened, Belle."**

**"I want to be at your side, to help you recover. Talk to Archie, Rumple; he's ready to help too; he's had a lot of experience counseling trauma victims. I can go with you, if you prefer, or you can go alone and tell him things that you'd be uncomfortable having anyone else hear. Please."**

**"I'm a very old soul, Belle. I've lived many lives and I've managed to survive. Zelena is just another bump in the road, soon to be forgotten."**

**"I understand, but Archie is a wonderful listener and a wise counselor—he doesn't judge—"**

**Rumple raised his hand in a stop gesture. "If I told the cricket half of what I've experienced in my lifetime, he'd run shrieking back to the Enchanted Forest and join the circus. I'll ask him to officiate at our wedding, but that's all. You'll have to take me as I am, sweetheart: a very old and battered soul who prefers to keep his secrets." He slipped his arms around her waist. "But not too old to protect his wife." He nuzzled her ear. "And not too old to learn _Cosmo_'s secrets."**

**"Rumplestiltskin, you're trying to distract me so I'll forget—"**

**He whispered something sweetly naughty in her ear, then kissed her thoroughly. "What were you saying before I rudely interrupted you, darling?"**

**She rested her forehead against his shoulder. "I forgot."**


	42. Chapter 41

_**A/N. Now that the timelines have merged, from time to time I'll be placing Rumple's point of view side by side with someone else's (in this chapter, Belle's). Sometimes that will be to establish a contrast of views on the same event, but in this chapter, it's because Rumple and Belle are both trying to make peace with former enemies.**_

* * *

><p><strong>5 May 2014<strong>

**All conversation ceased as Rumplestiltskin entered the crowded diner, and heads bent toward plates as he walked past the booths. This was as it always was, as it should be, when the most feared man in town entered any room. He would have been concerned had people greeted him warmly, as they did Belle, or worse, ignored him. The customers' reaction told him his reputation was still intact, despite his being away for a year (despite his being a witch's slave for a year). He stared straight ahead as he made his way towards the back booth, but from the corner of his eye, he assessed the restaurant: it was a complete duplicate of the original Granny's, just as every other building in town was; Snow's Curse had copied Regina's, right down to the half-an-apple-pie in the display case on the counter. **

**He'd found it strange that nothing about this town or its people apparently had changed under Snow's Curse. As he'd walked down Main Street from his shop, he'd felt a bit like a hamster on a wheel who'd suddenly become conscious of the outside world and so, desirous of escape, he was galloping faster and faster. He was going to break the wheel, though, break out of his cage and with his family he'd run far away from this trap of a town. **

**Bearing that in mind, Rumplestiltskin marched up to the booth closest to the exit. He'd be out of this town soon. Free. And that certainty enabled him to swallow his pride, greet his future father-in-law, and seat himself across the table. Ruby brought over his customary cup of black coffee without asking, handed him a menu, muttered, "The lunch special is the BLT," and backed away, positioning herself safely behind the counter, pretending to wipe it down.**

"**Mr. Gold, I'm here only because Belle asked me to," French began.**

"**We're in agreement then." Rumple cast the menu aside; he wasn't here to eat. "For Belle's sake."**

**French pondered a moment, then nodded. "For Belle's sake."**

"**This may smooth things over a bit." Rumple reached into his jacket pocket, brought out a rectangle of paper and slid it across the table. **

**French picked it up and read the writing on it. "What's this?"**

"**A check, Mr. French. Reimbursement for your medical expenses."**

"**That was three years ago," French murmured, still reading the check.**

"**And for that, I apologize. Along with—other things. Other wrongdoings." Rumple leaned back in the booth, adding a few more inches between himself and French. "I apologize for acting on information that I hadn't checked out first. I mistakenly believed I was taking revenge for the death of someone I loved, someone who you had beaten to death. So I was told."**

"**Belle?" Moe blanched. "Someone told you I—beat Belle to death?" At Rumplestiltskin's nod, he sputtered, "I **_**never **_**would-! My daughter! My only child, all I had left after her mother died. She was precious to me. I would have given my life, my duchy, to protect her."**

"**Perhaps then you can understand how I felt when I was told you had ordered the monks to flog her to drive the demons out of her."**

"**Demons? No, I—no. I don't know how people think in the Dark Mountains, but in Avonlea, we believe demons run from angels like my Belle."**

"**I have learned since that my informant not only lied to me, but also was holding Belle prisoner, even as she was telling me that Belle had leapt from a tower to her death, to escape the whips." Rumple stirred his coffee to cool it, then set the spoon aside and focused on Moe. "Perhaps you can understand my rage when I heard this, my vow to seek justice for Belle. I don't apologize for my anger, but I do apologize for my gullibility. Especially considering the source of the information."**

"**I suppose, under the circumstances, I'd have. . . ." Moe let the sentence trail off. He couldn't bring himself to say **_**done the same**_**, because he never would have dared to attack the Dark One, even to revenge Belle. "I accept your apology."**

"**As restitution, I'm returning the van. Mr. Dove is delivering it to your shop this afternoon. The loan is canceled."**

"**Thank you." Moe shook a packet of sugar before tearing it open and pouring it into his coffee. "I accept—thank you."**

**Rumplestiltskin lowered his voice, and Ruby had to come out from behind the counter and pretend to wipe down a nearby table in order to hear him. "Thank you for agreeing to participate in our wedding."**

"**I'm not in favor of it, but Belle's made her choice." He studied the pawnbroker as closely as he dared. "She swears to me you're kind to her."**

"**I love her. And she loves me, though, for the life of me, I don't know why. I'll keep her safe—I know I've failed in that regard, but from now on, her safety and welfare come first for me. I promise you that."**

"**And happy?" Moe fiddled with his spoon. "She says you make her happy. You'll put her happiness first—" Moe gulped. "Ahead of your own?"**

"**She will be my **_**wife**_**, Mr. French." Rumplestiltskin said no more; from what Belle had told him of her parents' marriage, he knew he didn't need to elaborate.**

**Moe nodded slowly, sipped his coffee. "That's how I felt about Colette." Sitting back, he sized up his now former enemy. "All right, then, I'm going to believe you. For her sake. If you ever need anything from me—I don't suppose a man like you ever would—"**

"**We'll ask," Rumplestiltskin finished for him. "I realize you must have doubts. Objections. But in time, I hope to dispel those objections. You're welcome to drop by or phone any time, to ease your mind. We're on the same side, Mr. French: Belle's."**

**French nodded, then blurted, "Sesame seeds."**

"**Pardon me?"**

"**She's allergic to sesame seeds. She tells me you do a lot of the cooking, so I thought I should tell you, in case she forgot to."**

"**I'll bear that in mind." He reached across the table, offering his open hand. "Thank you, Mr. French."**

**Moe shook his hand briefly. "Maybe you should call me Moe. Or Maurice." **

"**And you can call me Rumplestiltskin." He gave a small shrug. "I realize it's a mouthful, but the curse never gave Gold a first name."**

"**All right. Maybe we should talk about the wedding? I'd like to provide the flowers."**

"**We'd appreciate that. I'm sure whatever you choose will be lovely." Rumple rose and tossed a ten-dollar-bill onto the table. Ruby moved one table closer, her eyes traveling from her departing customer to that tip. "I'll call you tonight with directions to the cabin. Or if you like, Mr. Dove can pick you up; he'll be bringing Henry."**

**Moe speculated, "I guess I'm kind of a—what, step-great-grandfather-in-law, now?"**

"**It's a complicated world, Mr.—Maurice. I need to get back to work. Have a good afternoon."**

"**Yeah." Moe fingered the check again, counting the zeros. "Good afternoon."**

* * *

><p>"Good afternoon, Regina." Belle glanced over her shoulder at the customer who'd fallen in line behind her. The pharmacy was unusually busy for a weekday at 2 p.m., well past the lunchtime crowd that would drop in for a quick purchase before heading off to the diner, yet too early for the after-school crowd dropping by for candy and sodas. Ahead in line were Ms. Ginger, whose red plastic basket contained canned cat food and a bag of litter; Marco, who was stocking up on matches, flashlight batteries and soup; and Dave (of Dave's Fish and Chips), who was purchasing cocoa packets, powdered milk, oatmeal, and batteries. "This morning's unexpected cold snap seems to have brought people out," Belle remarked.<p>

"They're preparing for a heavy winter," Regina explained. "Power outages, water pipes bursting, that sort of thing. I'm stocking up too." She lifted her basket so Belle could see the canned goods, bottled water, batteries, matches and chocolate bars therein. "Is the heater in the library working properly?"

"So far. We haven't had any patrons today, though, except Mr. Marine, and he just photocopied some pages out of _Chilton's_."

"I'll be stopping by after I drop these off at home."

Ms. Ginger had received her change and strolled away, so the line moved forward.

"Do you have some books about business start-up?" Regina continued.

"We do. Are you starting a business, may I ask?"

"Considering it. I need something to occupy my time, and it occurs to me this town doesn't have a retail shop for professional women."

"That sounds like a good idea," Belle said. "As soon as I get back, I'll set some books aside for you."

"Thanks." They fell silent as Marco paid for his items and the line moved ahead another space. Then Regina glanced at the slip of paper in Belle's hand. "I hope no one in your household is ill."

"Huh? Oh." Belle glanced too at the slip. "Uh, no. This is, ah, for, uh, birth control. The Pill." The further she explained, the redder her face became. "Because I—we—we're getting married."

Regina smiled coolly. "Say no more. And congratulations. Or is it 'good luck' that one is supposed to wish the bride? I always forget."

"Thank you."

"If you need a gown, may I recommend my dressmaker, Chantelle? Of course, I'm sure you already have something picked out. You have a. . . distinct. . . fashion sense of your own."

"I have something picked out. Vintage."

"I must admire your sense of the practical, Ms. French. Not many young women would choose a second-hand wedding gown."

Belle tightened her jaw. "It was worn by Carole Lombard to a post-Oscars party in 1936, when she was nominated for Best Actress for _My Man Godfrey_." Actually, that was nowhere near true, and Belle was just as shocked as Regina was when the claim came out of her mouth. Why did she feel the need to justify her fashion choices to Regina?

"I see," Regina said smoothly. "Will it be a civil ceremony, as opposed to a church one? Rumple's had an ongoing squabble with clergy for as long as I can remember."

"Civil," Belle said, biting her lip so she wouldn't be tempted to say more. Then she couldn't help but smiling as she recalled Rumple's promise to _be civil_ to her father.

"I understand you've invited Henry, but not Emma or her parents." There was puzzlement in the question and just a hint of insult; Belle could almost hear _or me_ tacked on to the end.

"We want a private ceremony, very small and quiet."

"I see. Well, I'm sure it'll be lovely."

Belle fumbled for a different subject. "The temperature dropped very suddenly this morning, didn't it? Very unusual."

"Yes. Unusual."

"So. . . I guess Trajan is adjusting well in Augusta. Archie says he's started school and is learning to ride a bike."

"Yes. I'm pleased for him."

"Me too." Belle deliberated a moment, but as Dave was paying with a check and gumming up the progress of the customer line, she took a chance on asking a personal question—maybe just a little bit because Regina had nosed her way in on Belle's personal business. "He's such a likeable boy. I imagine your house seems empty now without him, and with Henry living with Emma."

Regina answered sharply, "Henry lives two weeks out of the month with me." Then she eased back, perhaps remembering that later, she'd be asking Belle to help her conduct research for a marketing plan. "But yes, the house does seem quiet without Trajan, even though he was with me a short time."

Satisfied, Belle eased up a bit too. "Since you're coming by the library, I could set aside some books that Roland might like."

"Thank you."

"And we just got in _The Stepmother's Guide to Surviving and Thriving in a Blended Family_."

Regina's eyes widened for a moment with surprise, then she smiled. "Yes, I think I'd like to read that."


	43. Chapter 42

**5 May 2014**

**The psychiatrist tried to rope him into therapy. "You were a prisoner of war for almost a year," he argued. "You were physically tortured." There was a question under the statement, but Rumple didn't deign to answer it, not even with a wince. "You were threatened repeatedly. You were used as a weapon against your family and friends. You were a—"**

**Rumplestiltskin held up a warning hand. "I know what I was. That's behind me now."**

"**It can't be. Your body might be healed, but the mind—"**

"**I'm marrying Belle tomorrow night. Will you officiate, or shall I raise your rent?"**

"**Mr. Gold." Hopper tried to take a reasonable tone. "I don't doubt your sincerity, and I certainly understand how, after all the instability you've experienced, you would want to hold on—"**

"**May I remind you, Doctor, Belle saved your life."**

**"The trauma must b****e dealt with before you can move on with your life. There are proven programs of treatment. I can assure you, you can feel better. Let me help. Two ses****sions a week. I have an opening day after tomorrow."**

"**No. Thank you."**

"**If it's a matter ****of money—" Archie chewed his lip. "No, of course not. Please, Mr. Gold, you need this. You're in no shape for such a life-altering decision as marriage. For Belle's sake, let—"**

"**It's for Belle's sake that we must marry quickly."**

"**Oh." Hopper reddened, stammered, "Well, attitudes toward. . .out-of-wedlock pregnancy—"**

"**Don't be daft." Rumplestiltskin's hands moved toward the center, seeking to rest upon a cane that he no longer carried. Recovering his poise, he folded his arms instead. "In case you haven't noticed, Doctor, I seem to have acquired a great many enemies, many of whom have figured out that the easiest way to attack me is through Belle. You may be surprised to learn this, but magic, even dark magic, is a great respecter of marriage. Once our vows are spoken, my magic will take her under its protection, so that even if I'm incapacitated, the magic will shield her. Besides, under my roof, she will be safe; not even the likes of Hook would dare enter my home."**

"**I see." The psychiatrist occupied himself with his pen and pad for a moment, buying time to think. "I want only the best for Belle, Mr. Gold. Just as you want to protect her life, I want to protect her heart. It's plain to see she's already pledged to you, but to give you and her your best chance to succeed in this union, please, would you agree to enter into a therapy program after your honeymoon? We can include her in some of the sessions, or not, however you feel comfortable." When Rumplestiltskin hestitated, Hopper advanced. "I'll officiate at your wedding if you'll agree to consider therapy. Just **_**consider**_**, that's all I'm asking."**

**Well, Hopper hadn't said how long the period of consideration had to last. Rumplestiltskin gave a sharp nod.**

**As he turned to leave, Hopper slowed him with another question. "Mr. Gold. Will you be coming to the coronation potluck this afternoon?"**

"**My fiancée wishes it," Rumple answered, walking out into the hallway. "So I'll be there."**

"**Good. That's—" Hopper didn't get to finish his attempt to praise Rumple for this show of community spirit. Just as well: they both knew that would have been an inaccurate assumption. Rumple would go not because he was feeling social, nor out of gratitude for the heroes having freed him from Zelena; he would go only because Belle asked him to.**

* * *

><p><strong>Missions accomplished. Satisfied, Rumple returned to the pawnshop and dashed off a quick text to Belle to report his successes, then he resumed work, digging through his collection of books for any reference to the containment and preservation of magic. It must be possible to make magic portable into a world without it; after all, he'd found a way to introduce magic to a magicless world. And figuring that out had taken him only a couple of centuries. Maybe when he got a little closer to a solution, he could convince Belle of the wisdom of this project, and then she could take over the book work, leaving him to experiment in his lab. With their differing skills, they would make a most productive team: the Pierre and Marie Curie of magic. Once she got involved in the work, she would come to appreciate magic as much as he did, he was sure.<strong>

** He had wondered if the absence of his heart would affect his ability to read other people, but apparently it hadn't: he'd pressed just the right buttons with French (money and protectiveness) and Hopper (obligation and protectiveness), and he hadn't had to cope with his own emotions getting in the way. In fact, without the interference and inconvenience of emotions, he could achieve his goals more efficiently, it seemed. His date with Belle last night had proven that remembering emotions could be almost as effective as actually feeling them: she had seemed convinced that his adoration and his passion for her were of the moment, and his body had certainly reacted to her kisses in all the expected ways.**

**He could pull this off. He was convinced of that now. His study would proceed apace, without the messiness of self-doubt or guilt to interfere, or his affections for Belle to distract; he would find a way to preserve his power out there in the magicless world, and then he could protect his family anywhere: his grandson, his wife, his future children. And of course himself.**

**As he read, he drew his jacket tighter about him. Eventually he became aware of a decline in temperature in the shop, and he left his books long enough to adjust the thermostat. How inconvenient that winter apparently was attacking Maine early this year. He phoned Dove, asking him to deliver a cord of wood to the pink house; as large as that house was, he needed to maintain the fireplace in the bedroom to keep warm at night. That would change too, he assured himself: when he escaped Storybrooke, he'd take Belle and Henry to Miami or Palm Springs for the winter. Or maybe he'd buy an uninhabited island in the Caribbean; that would be even better for keeping them safe.**

**An uninhabited island. Yes. He liked that idea very much.**


	44. Chapter 43

**A/N. I'm trying to stick pretty close to canon, but I have added a few embellishments that, I think, are not too far out of line; I wanted to bring Regina forward more than she was in the episode, and I figured Belle and Rumple would notice Emma's absence from the party and Belle would ask about it. And I couldn't help but sneak in reference to one of the many missed opportunities in Seasons 3-4: a chance for the family that Bae left behind (Emma, Rumple and Henry) to connect with each other, at least to share their grief, if not to bond.**

**So this is my fix-it: here's the scene in which the opening of the time portal is discovered; it's presented from Belle's perspective, since we've already seen Rumple's. That scene is followed by the announcement of the baby's name, from both Belle's and Rumple's perspectives.**

* * *

><p>5 May 2014<p>

Eyebrows shot up as the service bell above the entrance to Granny's Diner tinkled for the hundredth time that day—for behind the first entrant, Belle (no surprise; she'd promised to come), came the man who _never_ attended social functions—and he came bearing a wrapped gift as well as a Tupperware bowl. He added the former to the gift table near the juke box and the latter to the wealth of entrees at the counter.

From his post at the punch bowl, Archie flashed Belle a thumbs-up, and Regina abandoned her lasagna-serving duties to wander over and greet the newcomers. The smirk on her lips suggested she had intentions of making some cutting remark, but as she crossed the room, a burst of laughter from Robin at some joke Little John was telling took the starch out of Regina. That laugh reminded her she was in a good place right now; she could afford to be generous with her old frenemy. En route to the doorside table at which Rumple was holding a chair for Belle, Regina paused at the punch bowl for two filled cups, and she brought these over to the new guests. "Glad you could make it, Belle." She offered the punch. "I hope you're hungry. I made plenty of lasagna."

Belle accepted the cup but before she could give her thanks, Henry interrupted, pointing past Rumple's shoulder. "Uh, Grandpa, look. What is that?" Heads turned to stare out the open door to the horizon, where a fiery beam stretched like an airport search light into the sky.

"That," said Rumple, "is a problem. That light is from Zelena's time portal. It's open."

And suddenly the party was momentarily suspended. "The jail," David snapped. He set a hand on his wife's shoulder briefly. "Stay here with the baby. I'll check this out. Gold, come with me." The prince ran out into the street. Rumple turned to follow at a more dignified pace.

Belle cast a quick glance back the diner before running out too, alongside Robin and Regina. "Where's Emma?" she panted, fearful now. "If Zelena's loose—"

"She's okay. She got upset with something the pirate said and stepped outside to cool off," Robin explained. Belle nodded, only slightly relieved; her mind flashed to the dagger, which she'd locked up in the library's safe. She'd assumed that would be a better hiding place than the pawnshop's wall safe, considering Smee had managed to open it (and, according to Dove, so had Cinderella): no one would suspect the library had need of a safe, overdue fines being only five cents per day (Belle could have told them, however, that Sleepy alone was shelling out fifty bucks a month for books he could never remember to return on time. Add to that the carelessness of the other dwarfs, and the library was taking in enough each year to buy a full set of encyclopedias).

Once inside the jail, the troop came to a staring halt. Both jail cells were empty, the bed linens in one rumpled; but the cell doors were firmly locked. Belle surmised, _hoped_ that that Zelena had escaped through the time portal—and then she realized the foolishness of that hope. Zelena might be out of their hair and away from the dagger, but if she'd gone back in time, she could be doing irreparable harm.

Regina shot that theory down: without magic Zelena couldn't have left the jail. Then she turned her accusations and everyone's attention to Rumple. "Unless you did something to her."

For just a second, Belle's heart stopped. He'd promised. . . on his dagger, he'd promised. . . as she accepted his marriage proposal, he'd promised. . . .

To Belle's relief, Rumple flatly denied the accusation. _There_. She flashed a glare at Regina:_ Rumple doesn't lie_. "Even if I wanted to," he went on, "Belle has my dagger. She would certainly curb any homicidal tendencies."

Before an argument could break out, David interrupted, bringing in the surveillance tape. As the heroes watched, a very vulnerable Zelena stood up against the jail cell wall. The tape sputtered, David cursed the Betamax player and slapped it, and when the tape straightened out, Zelena could be seen casting a curse upon herself—changing herself into porcelain that then shattered into dust. The dust swirled and blew away.

Shocked, Regina fished for an explanation. Belle ignored it; she was preoccupied with the flood of self-righteous anger (and relief) that washed over her when the tape irrefutably proved Rumple innocent. Maybe now they'd stop blaming him for everything evil. Trust him—no, they never would, but in their embarrassment, surely they would apologize. And if they apologized for this, surely one day they'd apologize for having left him in that damn cage for more than a year. Belle searched their faces for signs of contrition. She thought she found it in Robin's, but Regina was busy playing magic professor, and David merely stared down his nose at Rumple.

Rumple had the right to be offended, but he took the high road, offering the heroes advice, cautioning them to keep everyone clear of the portal. Belle raised her chin in pride. Tonight, when they were alone, she would tell him just how impressed she was by his display of restraint at this unfounded accusation.

He didn't trust Rumple, that was clear, but David reached for his phone. "I'll get the Street Department to erect a barrier around that thing, soon as I call Emma. The rest of you might as well go back to the party."

"You sure, sheriff?" Robin hesitated.

David shrugged. "The public needs to be informed, but the last thing we need is to cause a panic."

"Especially for Snow," Regina added, and David and Robin smiled at her in gratitude for her acknowledgement. "After everything Zelena put her and the baby through."

Belle sniffed. Yeah, Snow and the baby had suffered at Zelena's hands, and that needed to be recognized. But the mom and newborn weren't Zelena's only victims. Then Belle shook herself out mentally. Carrying a chip on her shoulder for Rumple's sake would do him no good and certainly would interfere with her attempts to encourage his recovery.

She reached for his hand. "Let's go back to the diner."

"I'll be along as soon as I reach Emma," David assured them, turning away from them to speak into the phone.

Regina straightened her shoulders. "Back to the party, then." The group moved more slowly this time, back the way they'd come. Regina made a brief announcement to the partiers: "Zelena has . . . extinguished herself. She's no longer a threat. David will be along shortly. He asked us to resume the festivities. Now, Ms. French, Gold, would you care for some punch?" Pasting on a smile, the queen poured out cups of punch.

"What do you mean, 'extinguished herself'?" Leroy belted out, but Ruby elbowed him in the gut. "What do you think it means, dope? Have some respect." She tilted her head in Henry's direction. Then she too pasted on a smile and called out above the murmurs, "Seconds on cake, anyone? Belle, you didn't get a piece. It's chocolate. Mr. Gold? We have ice cream to go with it."

Belle accepted a plate and set it on the table, but she didn't sit down when Rumple drew out a chair for her. "I'm going to go congratulate Snow—and reassure her."

She didn't ask him to accompany her to the Charmings' table; he was grateful for that. She understood that social functions had always been a strain for him, and after everything he'd suffered the past year, she wouldn't push him too far. He'd agreed to attend this ceremony for her sake; she appreciated that and would ask no more of him today. With a quick kiss to his cheek, she went off to pay their respects to Snow and meet the baby.

Regina lingered a little longer as Rumple seated himself. Briefly, he contemplated offering her the chair he'd intended for Belle, but on second thought, he saw no reason to fake such a nicety. Just four days ago, this woman had lorded his dagger over him: he owed her no courtesy.

"Perhaps I. . . was a bit hasty," she began. But that was as far she was willing to go with an apology. She changed the subject, setting his cup of punch before him. "I understand congratulations are in order for you, too."

He scowled but remained silent.

"For your engagement, I mean. The newspaper said you hadn't set the date yet, but that it would be soon."

"And private," he growled. "Very private."

She sniffed. "Well. I won't expect an invitation then. But congratulations just the same. You deserve some happiness, and so does she."

He stopped frowning. "Thank you."

They had nothing more to say to one another, so Regina returned to her lasagna pan and Rumple studiously avoided eye contact with anyone else. He was here; that was the best he could do today. He wanted no questions about his future or his immediate past; he wanted no congratulations for his engagement or his release from the witch. He kept his gaze fixed on the tabletop, and when Belle returned, he rose until she'd seated herself, then he spent the rest of the party chatting with her alone. It was the longest uninterrupted conversation the two of them had ever had in the diner.

David returned and took Snow aside for a private consultation; Ruby bounced the baby while they went out to the alley. When they returned and slid into the booth beside Henry, Snow appeared white-faced, and when she took the baby from Ruby, she held him close. Granny turned the juke box on to a song that advised the listener to "shake it off, 'cause the haters gonna hate hate hate hate." Conversation resumed, cake and lasagna and punch and beer were consumed, and for the most part, Storybrooke seemed convinced the Wicked Witch was dead and they were safe once more.

After Regina, only Henry, Archie and Ruby came by the table to say a quick hello; only Henry was able to elicit a smile from Rumple. Then Emma, looking understandably pale, dashed in, and after speaking a few words to her parents and Henry, she kissed her brother's forehead and made her way to the counter for a whiskey. Another belt later, she was ready to play hostess again, though Belle noticed a continuing wonderment in her eyes. Apparently, Zelena's suicide had come as quite a shock to her. Emma made the rounds, accepting hugs, offering refills on the beer, laughing at the Merry Men's lame jokes. She finally made her way back toward the entrance, where Rumple and Belle sat.

Belle embraced her and congratulated her on becoming a sister. "Mom did all the hard work," Emma chuckled. "But aren't the results great? Can I offer you guys a beer?" Her voice dropped a bit. "Glad you could make it, Gold."

Belle noticed a softening of Rumple's features as he said a few words in response to Emma's greeting, and it gave her an idea: perhaps these two, who might have become in-laws, if not for Fate and Zelena, should have an opportunity to share their memories. Perhaps such a conversation could get them to lower their walls just enough to express their shared grief. When she strolled over to the punch bowl for refills, Belle presented Emma with an open-ended invitation to dinner. "Rumple is a gourmet cook; I'm sure he'd love to show off his skills. And if Henry doesn't like gourmet, we can always throw a hamburger on the grill."

Emma sounded doubtful but to be polite, she sort of accepted. "Sure. It would be good for Henry to get to know his grandfather better. We, uh, guess we'll be staying in Storybrooke, after all." She cast a glance toward Rumple. "There is something I'd like to ask Gold about. Something that happened to me and Hook today."

Belle's smile froze. "Oh. Well, then, I'll give you a call as soon as we get back from our honeymoon." She gave Emma a hug. "See you later, Emma."

**From his table beside the entrance, Rumple watched the exchange between Belle and Emma with interest, though over the noise, he couldn't hear what was said; he had a pretty good idea, however, that it would somehow result in more work for him. But his memory won out over his disdain for being called to further service for the Charmings: a conversation with Emma could fill in some of the gaps in the story of Bae's adult years, so he would talk to her, make a deal with her if necessary, to learn more about his son. **

**Even more interesting to him was the exchange between Emma and her parents, as it seemed to involve a change of heart for Emma. He would tolerate continued contact with the Charmings if only to find out what had happened to get the savior so flustered and so huggy with Mom and Dad. Whatever Emma had decided, it seemed to make Henry exceedingly glad.**

"I think it's going well, don't you?" Belle said as she returned to the table.

It wasn't an idle question, Rumple understood. "It's okay." He really meant _I'm okay_. "I'll be glad to go home, though. Regina's lasagna is a highway to heartburn." He poked at the pepper flakes on his plate.

Belle giggled. "When we get home I'll mix you a bicarbonate." She emphasized _home_, and that prompted him to smile, as she knew it would.

"Home," he echoed. "You know, we haven't talked about that yet. If there's anything you want to change about the house—new curtains, new furniture, a paint job—just name it and it's done. Or if you don't like the house—"

"Excuse me. If I could have everyone's attention," David called out, and all conversation ceased. He made a nice little speech, ending with "We name him for a hero, someone who saved every one of us. We loved him and he loved back." There was a crack in his voice.

Snow picked up the speech. "People of Storybrooke, it is our great joy to introduce you to our son, Prince Neal." She glanced at Rumple, then turned her attention to Emma.

**_That wasn't his name_, Rumple wanted to interrupt. But he supposed he would have to let that complaint go; Bae had made his choice of name long ago, and to deny it would be disrespectful as well as pointless. As soon he released the thought, a flood of memories washed over Rumple, and the memory of emotions: surfacing above them all was the vision of a father in combat uniform holding his infant son for the first time, and promising to take care of him forever, and that infant reaching up to grasp the father's nose. **

Belle blinked back tears and reached out for her fiance's hand, but found it otherwise engaged: Rumple was resting a finger along his nose and his eyes had closed. Belle withdrew her hand, giving him his privacy; if she touched him, she thought, he might lose his composure, and he'd be so embarrassed to be caught tearing up in public. Later, she would ask him how he felt about this decision of Snow's.

The party began to break up soon thereafter, as the gifts were all opened and Regina dished out the last of the lasagna and Snow handed over the baby to David for a diaper change. Belle granted Rumple the relief of being the first to leave. As they walked to the Cadillac, she hugged his arm. "Thank you, Rumple. I know that was hard."

He kissed the top of her head. "There will be more hard times to come, sweetheart. Thank you for being patient with me."

She fell silent, a little disturbed by his comment. They would marry tomorrow; what did he mean by "more hard times to come"? Shouldn't he be happy? Then she felt guilty for prescribing feelings for him. After all he'd been through, happiness, when it came, would be hard won. But it would come, she vowed. She'd make sure of that.

**As he handed Belle into the Caddy, he felt an itch at the back of his neck. Something had changed, a shift in the lines of magic that crisscrossed this town. As he walked around to the driver's side, he took the opportunity to scan the street, then the horizon, sending out questioning pulses of magic, like sonar, and answers bounced back at him. Something magical was missing. He searched the horizon with his eyes and his magic, until he made his discovery: the beam of light that had signaled the opening of Zelena's portal had disappeared. His magic poked and prodded the other lines of magic, reading the signatures and sending him back indentifications: Regina's, Blue's, the other fairies'. Zelena's was gone, its last lingering traces completely wiped from the sky. He breathed more easily then. **

**Later, however, regret gnawed at him like a starved rat. What if, while that portal had been open, he had. . . .**


End file.
